


Red Falls The Dew On These Silver Leaves

by eldritcher



Series: Red Falls The Dew On These Silver Leaves [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of Celebrimbor, the Ring-smith. </p><p>Before there were rings, before Eregion, before everything that Middle-Earth remembers him for, he was Feanor's grandson and student. He was much beloved to his family and they protected him until the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Falls The Dew On These Silver Leaves

“Not again!”I groaned as I saw the riders gallop into my grandfather’s courtyard.

Boisterously cheerful conversation that must have scared away the avian inhabitants of the gardens heralded the arrival of the hunters.

“Telpë!” My father was calling from the foyer. “Come here, child!”

It was hard to be the youngest boy in this family. They seemed to think that I should learn to hunt before I learnt to read. I began carefully putting away the pebbles I had been playing with.

“Telpë!” It was Irissë now. 

“I come,” I said in the most cheerful tone I could muster. Hastily, I made for the door, clutching the last pebble in my hand.

I had barely opened the door when my father lifted me up and twirled me around. Gasping, I laughed and buried my face in his neck. He smelled of his sweat and of my mother, scents I deeply loved. I inhaled contentedly and did not complain when he carried me to the courtyard to show me off to the assembled riders.

“Young Telpë is growing so fast,” Irissë remarked as she came to kiss my cheek. 

Her lips were warm and soft, despite all the time she spent outdoors. I dutifully returned her kiss and bore her mussing of my hair with stoic tolerance. She was very pretty and my playmates were all envious of me because I was her nephew. 

“Can we take him along?” Findekáno asked. 

I loved Findekáno. He was quick to laugh and quicker to make others laugh. He did not set expectations as my father did. And he most definitely did not have that dangerous temper which ran in my grandfather’s blood. 

“Oh, brother!” Irissë laughed. “He is too young. Maybe in five years, we can take him with us if he wishes to come.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to come?” Findaráto strode forward and kissed my forehead briskly. “We were all praying to be taken along when we were his age!”

“Macalaurë wasn’t,” Findekáno reminded him.

“Don’t get started on my poor brother,” my father intervened hastily. 

“He looks down upon us all because we consider hunting a noble pursuit,” Carnistro said wryly. “Do you really wish to defend him, brother mine?”

The debate was stifled when Tyelkormo rode in, his features flustered and his forehead shining with sweat. He always managed to be disheveled and dangerously handsome. My father used to say that Tyelkormo had looked the part of a hunter even as a toddler. 

 

“What did I look like?” I would ask him immediately.

He would fix an assessing stare on me and say, “Like silver.”

 

I did not understand the meaning, for I had inherited my father’s dark hair and eyes. He refused to elaborate.

Now my father was rolling his eyes as Tyelkormo delivered Turkáno’s apology about not being able to join the hunt. Turkáno usually had to be dragged to accompany them. He would frown and rant about princely duties even as they dragged him atop his horse and led him away. 

“For once, I am inclined to let him be,” Irissë said shortly. “We are late as we are.”

“Why did that happen?” my father asked her. 

“Nolofinwë was trying to teach Findekáno diplomacy,” Findaráto offered, seemingly unafraid of his cousin’s glare. “A cause more lost, I am yet to see.”

Findekáno responded with a scathing reply which I could not hear because my father clapped my ears shut with his hands. I scowled at him. But he merely chuckled and kissed my nose. 

The clatter of hooves upon the flagstones of the courtyard brought a halt to the ribald conversation. 

“Will you clear off from the courtyard in the foreseeable future?” My eldest uncle, Maitimo, asked companionably as he rode in.

“We are waiting for the Ambarussa and for Turkáno.” Tyelkormo walked to hold the reins of his brother’s horse. 

“You will wait forever if you wait for Turkáno. He has left for his mother’s home and told me that he will not return until the hunting season wanes.” Maitimo winked meaningfully and leapt off with his usual, easy grace from his mount. 

“Coward!” Irissë exclaimed. “He promised me that he would come!”

“He said he didn’t mind sending Elenwë instead,” Maitimo remarked. “But Grandfather looked appalled by the idea.”

“Come, will you?” Findaráto edged his horse closer and clasped Maitimo’s arm. “The game is excellent this year.”

“I promised Nolofinwë and Grandfather that I would stay,” Maitimo said, looking rather regretful. “Somebody needs to remain behind.”

“Turkáno can do that,” Findekáno suggested. “He does not mind. Let him help Father. Come with us. It has been long since we have hunted together.”

“But Nolofinwë and Turkáno don’t get along!” I exclaimed, my heart wholly immersed in the conversation. They were all noisy and loud. But they were the most fascinating people I knew. 

There was silence all around as more than a dozen pair of eyes stared at me. They were not used to being interrupted by anyone when in the middle of their revelries. Even my mother was as quiet as a mouse when Father entertained his family.

“Children should be seen and not heard!” Aikanáro began in a jesting sing-song voice that sounded utterly cruel to my young ears.

I gulped and turned to meet my father’s gaze. He was frowning at me. I loved to make him laugh and the thought that he might be angry made my eyes fill with tears.

“Turkáno won’t be happy to hear that children of Tirion have such a low opinion of him,” Findaráto suggested with a wide grin. “Maybe we should request Telpë to attend court and tell Turkáno what exactly he thinks of our cousin’s politics!”

“He is not that bad,” Maitimo began half-heartedly.

“I was there when he suggested that we impose a tax on hunting!” Findaráto retorted. “I have never quite forgiven him that.”

“Tax hunting?” Irissë asked, aghast. “The insane lout!”

“Now it truly was-” Maitimo’s valiant efforts to defend his cousin were drowned in disbelieving howls of protest.

“Clear out, will you?” My grandfather’s voice came exasperated from the mansion. “If you must bicker all the time, take yourselves to the woods. Some of us have to work!”

There was no protest at all this time and my father bestowed one final kiss on my forehead before setting me down and patting my head.

“Be good.”

“I always am!” I said, hurt that he would imply I ever could be otherwise.

“Take care of your mother,” he amended.

This was a duty I took most seriously. With a solemn nod, I accepted the charge. Biting my lips, I watched them all ride away, leaving the brown dust to settle languidly in the suddenly empty courtyard. Tears filled my eyes again. I would not see my father until the hunting season was over. I opened my fist and glared at the lone pebble. 

Maitimo came to my side and sat down on the first of the stone steps leading up to the mansion so that our heads were level. I turned to face him warily. He was always busy, hurrying here and there on his horse. My older playmates had told me that he was an important person, just like Nolofinwë and Great Grandfather. 

“What do you do?” I asked him, feeling very frightened. But I could not run away because my father had told me to be good, and being good meant being very brave.

“I gather pebbles,” he said solemnly. I frowned. Gathering pebbles did not seem like a very important thing to do. 

“But you are always away,” I said.

“Pebbles cannot be found everywhere,” he sighed sadly and stared at the ground. 

“There are many beside the pond behind the house!” I exclaimed, feeling so sorry that he had been away unnecessarily. “You should have asked me. I collect them and play with them every day.”

“Oh!” He turned to face me, his features lighting up like the fire in my grandfather’s forge. “Will you take me there, please?”

“Of course!” 

He was not very stern, I decided. Perhaps he would even read aloud to me if I asked. But he was not like my father. He did not lift me. I did not want to ask him though I found climbing the steps very difficult. 

“Maitimo, the child’s legs are not long enough to climb those!” Grandfather appeared at the top of the steps and frowned down at his son. 

Maitimo swore before he stooped down and lifted me. 

“He speaks so charmingly that I forgot how young he is,” he explained as he joined Grandfather. “Such an excellent vocabulary for his age!”

“He has proved to be a fast learner,” Grandfather agreed, making my heart swell in pride. 

Grandfather rarely complimented anyone that to hear he thought I had a fine mind was like Macalaurë praising my voice, though the latter was unlikely to happen ever. 

“Telpë is going to show me the best place to find pebbles,” Maitimo confided in a low, secretive voice as a couple of my playmates passed us, looking quite awed when they saw my Grandfather. 

“Can I come along?” Grandfather asked me, his black eyes twinkling without their usual sternness.

I nodded, too overwhelmed by their sudden interest in pebbles. 

We reached the pond and Grandfather immediately made for the nearest stone bench. Maitimo set me down and knelt beside me.

“I am not allowed to collect pebbles from the pond because I don’t know to swim. My friends say that they are smoother. Will the ones by the shore be enough?” I asked him worriedly. He was doing important things with these pebbles, after all. 

“Telpë, without your help I would be riding to far-off ponds and searching for pebbles. You made my work easier. So it is only fair that I help you swim and together we can collect the ones in the pond,” he told me very seriously. 

I gaped at him in astounded wonder while Grandfather chuckled from his perch on the seat and said something that sounded suspiciously like ‘diplomat’. 

“Would you really do that for me?” I asked in a hushed voice, not able to believe that he meant what he had said.

“Of course,” he said brightly. 

Thus it was that I began my swimming lessons that day, with Maitimo’s hand maintaining a secure hold on me ever. Grandfather would occasionally call out an instruction or a few words of encouragement, his black gaze fixed on us. My arms ached and I looked up at my uncle. 

“Enough for today.” Grandfather rose from his seat and walked to the edge of the pond.

“Very well, Father. If you wouldn’t mind, I shall swim awhile.”

I was safely handed to my grandfather. He was in a most unusual frame of mind, for he helped me dry and later allowed me to cuddle next to him. The swimming had made me sleepy and I drifted off into that languid state between awareness and dreams, my eyes dully focused on the clean, sharp strokes of my uncle’s limbs in the water. 

“How is she?” Grandfather asked quietly. 

His fingers absently smoothed back my damp hair, lulling me into contentment. 

“She has started to work on a new endeavour with clay as the medium. She seemed content. I could stay only for a week, though.”

“I asked Carnistro if they could spend the season with her instead of wasting it with this hunt of theirs. He didn’t agree,” Grandfather said. “It is not fair on her.”

“I shall ask Macalaurë, Father. He would be happy to go. I wish I could, but I have to help Grandfather with the administration.” 

“I could do that, if you badly want to go.” Grandfather’s tone sounded eerily similar to my own when I was forced to eat spinach.

A low chuckle was the only answer. 

“Come out,” Grandfather reprimanded gruffly. “You might sprout fins if you stay longer. And the women gathering wildberries are all gawking at your well-formed limbs. Do come out!”

“Being a most obedient son, I shall do exactly as you say. Look at Telpë! He is asleep, the poor child. Did I tax his little limbs too badly, Father?” Concern laced my uncle’s voice and cool, wet fingers brushed my forehead.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t swim, after all,” Grandfather laughed. “But Atarinkë is away and we can bribe the child into a vow of secrecy by a handful of pebbles if you did tax him too much.”

“Telpë is fast to learn and patient, qualities that will make him a good diplomat if he sets his mind on it.”

“I am taking him to the forge starting tomorrow. His soul yearns to create, Maitimo. He asked Irissë about the arched gateway last week. He will be a craftsman.”

“I am sure that you deceived yourself even when you held Macalaurë as an infant in your hands, Father. You love teaching us your craft.”

“I can assure you that I have never held a fool’s hope of Macalaurë following in my footsteps. Talking of Macalaurë, he was engaged in intimate frolics with Artanis in my forge!” Maitimo howled in laughter and Grandfather continued, “Quiet, the child sleeps.” I wondered if I should tell him that I was not yet asleep. But I loved listening to my grandfather’s voice and I loved family gossip. If I told him that I was awake, he might stop talking. 

He was saying unhappily, “But what will I do with them? I can’t shout at Artanis because Arafinwë will bring up petty politics and say that I am biased against him. Scolding Macalaurë has never proved effective.”

“Let them be, Father. Macalaurë looks carefree and that is a rare thing,” Maitimo said between another bout of laughter.

“Fëanáro!” A low, warm voice greeted my grandfather.

Grandfather rose to his feet, carrying me in his arms and said quietly, “Lord Irmo, to what do I owe this honour?”

“The honour is mine, Fëanáro. To see Míriel's son with his firstborn son and first grandson is a rare sight. You look very handsome, Nelyafinwë, if I may say so. Fëanáro, how did you craft such beauty?”

“Kind of you to say so,” Grandfather said, sounding rather disgruntled. “Maitimo, put some clothes on, will you?”

“I meant no dishonour, Fëanáro! Please rein in your protective fury, my prince. As you know, I admire glory in art, be it living or not.” 

“I must ask you not to appraise my son as if he were a piece of art!” Grandfather began angrily. 

“How may we serve you, Lord Irmo?” Maitimo hastily intervened. 

“May I hold your grandchild, Fëanáro?” Irmo asked quietly. 

“Why should-”

“Father,” Maitimo sounded vexed, “please.”

I was transferred to the guest’s warm hands. He crooned in his low, rich voice and said softly, “You shall be dear to me, Telperinquar. You shall craft in metal visions of splendour and skill seen only in my realm of dreams thus far.”

“Metal?” Grandfather asked, a trace of excitement in his voice. 

“Yes, Fëanáro,” Irmo said smoothly. “You have finally a successor to your legacy. His hands shall conquer metal as yours strive to conquer light. Now I must go. I am glad that I could meet your young scion.”

After he left, Maitimo said quietly, “What was that about, Father?”

“I wish I knew. I am uneasy. Irmo unsettles me.”

“He said Telpë will be dear to him,” Maitimo said reassuringly. “There is nothing to worry about. Come, let us return to the house.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Grandfather said grumpily. 

“Nor did I, Father. But he apologized. Let us leave it at that, please. I will change the subject, shall I? Elenwë is pregnant.”

“When did Turkáno find the time to achieve that?” Grandfather chuckled. “Nolofinwë told me nothing of this when he came yesterday.”

“Turkáno doesn’t know yet. I was dancing with Elenwë at a ball yesterday. She told me then. Telpë will have a playmate in the house soon. And shall I take him now to his mother?”

“She is helping Indis organize the feast to welcome Olwë. I can manage the child. There is a cot in the forge.”

“The forge!” Maitimo spluttered. “Father-”

“Really, uncle!” A female voice interrupted. “Give the child here. Maitimo! I thought Macalaurë said you were to return tomorrow.”

“Better the cot in my forge than a table in your musty library,” Grandfather retorted. “And since when did you start volunteering for childcare, Artanis?”

“Telpë is a sensible child. It is not a difficult task to keep him occupied. Now give him here.” Artanis matched words to deed and effectively hauled me from my grandfather’s loose hold into her arms. 

“Don’t drop him,” Grandfather warned as Artanis carried me away. 

I loved Artanis. She would often read aloud fairytales for me. She did not order me about as Irissë was prone to do. Artanis always maintained that I should do only what I wanted to. 

“Are we going to the library?” I asked drowsily.

She did not mind talking to me about family affairs, unlike the rest of them. 

“Awake, are you? It is very difficult to tell with you because your eyes shine bright in the light of Tyelperion even when you are asleep. No, I am going to my chambers. You can sleep there.”

“Won’t Macalaurë mind?” 

“He will be with his brother,” Artanis said quietly. She sounded sad, for some reason. 

I did not speak again, drifting into lazy dreams as she settled me on her bed and pulled the covers to my chest.

 

I was standing on a green mound and a breeze was playing with my clothes. I looked at my bare feet. They were dappled with fluttering shadows. Curious, I cast my eyes slowly upwards. There, above me, shone Tyelperion. It had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of the countless flowers that adorned the tree, a dew of light was ever falling. Awed, I held out my palms to collect the dew. Cool, liquid silver painted my hands and I laughed in wonder. Was this why my father had named me Telperinquar?

Something brushed my cheek and I turned towards the source. A tall form clad in a red cloak was standing beside me. Blue eyes gleamed stern from beneath the hood. I hastily lowered my hands and worried if I had been trespassing.

“Hold them out again, young friend. The Tree has chosen to grace you, I say.”

Something about his tone felt strange. I hesitated and took a step backwards.

“Hold out your hands.”

It was a command and I gulped as I obeyed. 

My hands still shone silver. Dew began coating them again and I looked up at my companion warily. 

“Look, the Tree is marking you as special,” he said, sounding satisfied. 

I brought my eyes to my palms again. The dew was no longer silver. Crimson drops slid down my fingers into the hollow of my palms. 

 

“Hush!” It took me long moments to recognize Artanis’s panicked voice imploring me to stop crying. When I finally fell into quiet whimpering, her hands came around me and she asked me sympathetically, “A bad dream, was it?”

I looked down at my trembling hands. They were the same as ever. 

“A very bad dream, Artanis. I am sorry,” I mumbled.

“Never mind. I was writing a letter,” she said easily. “Now shall I read aloud to you that tale we left unfinished last time?”

“Yes, please.”

And she read aloud to me. As enraptured as I was by the tale told in her lilting voice, I could not help sneaking worried glances at my fingers every now and then.

* * *

What we remember and what we forget, is it our heart or our mind that chooses? 

I clearly remember the heady scent of my grandfather’s sweat that dampened his tunic and lent a rich sheen to his skin which glistened in the dark, flickering flames of the forge fire. Equally vivid are my memories of his low voice that shaped words patient and wise as he led me through the first mysteries of his craft. The heat, the aching limbs, the awed excitement that rose in me when a word of encouragement passed his lips, the desperate thudding of my heart when he shook his head in disapproval and the cool, solid reassurance of metals under my fingers; I remember them all. 

But I don’t remember if we had been alone, or if I had spoken even a word. I don’t remember what day it was or how long we worked. 

Some memories are chosen consciously, and some subconsciously. That day extended into another and into yet another until it seemed that he and I were as much parts of the forge as were the metals and the tools. Familiarity brought security and security in turn heralded curiosity. Questions were asked, first hesitantly and later excitedly. He would answer if he was not preoccupied. I learnt to interpret his silences and he would often comment amusedly on what he termed my ‘prescience’. 

The first time he used that word, I asked him what it meant.

“What might it mean?” he queried, his eyes gleaming merry under those dark brows. 

‘Is it something to do with silence?” 

“Not always,” he told me.

“Then, what is it, Grandfather?”

“I am not a wordsmith, Telpë. Ask Maitimo when you see him next,” he said dismissively.

“Can’t we be both, Grandfather?” 

I loved words and I loved the battles Maitimo and Findaráto waged with words. But equally did I love my grandfather’s craft. Did I have to give up one to pursue the other? It did not seem fair.

“I am afraid I don’t understand,” Grandfather said briskly, already busy with something else. He was never idle. His mind seemed to churn out ideas at a rate faster than the pace of Oromë’s hounds. 

“Can I become a diplomat and a craftsman at the same time?” I asked nervously, wishing that he would not be offended.

Unfortunately, he was. His eyes flashed bright from beneath his frowning brows and he peered down at me.

“Would you ask that again, Telpë?”

So precise and cold was that tone and I promptly muttered something about the need to relieve myself. He nodded and I rushed out from the forge into the cool world washed silver by Tyelperion. Taking a deep breath, I bent down and clutched my knees, trying to stop my head from spinning. Grandfather was frightening when he lost his good temper. In the large courtyard across the forge, many of my playmates were laughing, tussling and thoroughly enjoying their life. I would have given anything to have been with them. But I had to return to Grandfather.

“Telpë, child?” 

I straightened up to see Nolofinwë and Macalaurë. 

“I suppose Father must have been carried away and frightened his protégé,” Macalaurë remarked in his languid, careless manner.

I did not like Macalaurë. He was very cold. But for Artanis’s sake, I always tried to behave well around him. 

“Now, Macalaurë,” Nolofinwë reprimanded him mildly before turning his gaze on me again. “Are you well, Telpë?” 

Before I could even think of an answer to that, the door to the forge opened and Grandfather stood there. 

“Telpë, how long-” Grandfather saw my companions and he flashed a grin. “Come in, Nolofinwë!” he said excitedly. “I have something to show you.” His gaze moved to his son and for the first time, I saw doubt in his eyes. But he continued brightly, “Macalaurë! Come in, will you?”

“You know I will not,” Macalaurë said crisply. “If I were you I would not overwork the child so.”

“Work?” Grandfather spluttered and Nolofinwë sighed. “You fool, this is not work. This is creation! And Telpë loves what he is learning, doesn’t he?” 

Three pairs of eyes were upon me. Grandfather looked confident, Nolofinwë resigned and Macalaurë bored.

“I love spending time with Grandfather in his forge,” I said truthfully.

“You are stunting his growth, Father,” Macalaurë said.

“Watch your tongue or leave,” Grandfather growled. 

Macalaurë inspected his fingers carefully before throwing a sardonic glance at his father and turning away. Nolofinwë smiled down at me and together we walked towards Grandfather.

“He is an infuriating bastard,” Grandfather muttered with his eyes on his son’s retreating back.

“Fëanáro!” Nolofinwë admonished as he entered the forge. “Don’t use such language in Telpë’s presence. And you know that he means no offence.”

“Only reason why I put up with him.” Grandfather shoved me in and closed the door behind us. “He is more arrogant than Eönwë, if you can imagine that!”

“I could always attribute that to his lineage. But doing so will not win favour with you. So let the matter pass and show me what you have been doing with your loyal apprentice.”

The rest of the day passed fast with Nolofinwë curbing Grandfather’s wild enthusiasm with placid questioning. When I finished putting the tools away and had banked the fire, Grandfather asked me to go on. This was unusual. We would usually leave together and he would take me to the pond to continue the swimming lessons Maitimo had begun. 

Thinking that he wished to spend time with his brother, I obeyed and left the forge. 

 

“There you are!” 

It was Turkáno. I liked him despite his stuffy behaviour. He would bring me books and quills from the city. 

“What may I do for you, Uncle?” I asked.

“Have you seen my father? There is an emergency at the court and he is needed there,” he said impatiently, flicking his eyes left and right as if expecting Nolofinwë to appear out of thin air.

“He was at the forge. Shall I fetch him?” 

“Yes, please. Tell him Arafinwë has come. And tell him that I will be with Grandfather and Maitimo.”

I found myself running towards the forge again. Grandfather had given me a key of my own, so that I could let myself in and out when I wished. I slid the door open quietly, for he did not appreciate loud noises when he was working. 

All was silent within. The fire remained banked as it had been when I had left earlier. Frowning, I walked through the long row between the tables. My height was still lesser than that of the tables. That must be why they did not see me.

On the edge of the last table of the row sat Grandfather, looking sweaty and dreamy. I wondered if he was all right. But Nolofinwë was with him. So I assured myself that he was fine. Maybe he had hurt himself with a tool. Or maybe the oppressive heat had finally overwhelmed him. But I had to bring my hands to my mouth to stifle a gasp when the scene slowly unfolded.

“Remember that day when we were standing thus?” Nolofinwë was asking, his voice husky and moved.

Grandfather nodded his head and spread his legs, sweating even more when Nolofinwë stepped in the gap created. They were chest to chest now and I knew I should have left. But I remained where I was, shock rooting me to the spot. I screwed my eyes shut, but something made me open them again. I hoped it was all a dream. But it was not. 

They remained in that position. Grandfather sighed and brought his fingers to Nolofinwë’s cheeks.

“Tell me,” Nolofinwë commanded softly, his eyes darker than I had ever seen them.

“It is not easy,” Grandfather smiled. He looked nervous and I watched half-fascinated as he cleared his throat twice before continuing. “I have often wondered how you would look in the light of the forgefire with your hair unbound and your form unclad, your lips forming my name and your hands clenching mine as you perform that wonderfully reckless act upon my willing self.”

Nolofinwë laughed queerly before saying in a very hoarse voice, “You wield words to great effect, Fëanáro. We lost a powerful speaker when we gained our greatest craftsman.”

Grandfather did not reply, instead bringing his lips to one of Nolofinwë’s ears and whispering something I could not hear. But from the stiffening of Nolofinwë’s body and the sharp exhalation that escaped him, I knew whatever said had the necessary effect. 

I thought Grandfather had angered Nolofinwë, for the latter ripped off his brother’s tunic and pulled him to his feet. Grandfather’s hands were doing the same to Nolofinwë’s clothes, though with more restraint. When Nolofinwë fell to his knees before Grandfather and pressed his nose against his brother’s stomach, I began to doubt my eyes. Nothing made sense at all. They were not fighting and they were not working. 

Grandfather’s scream brought me back to the present and I was about to run for help when the truth finally crashed down on me. Nolofinwë’s head glided up and down, his eyes fixed devilishly on Grandfather’s. 

“Stop,” Grandfather rasped weakly. “I told you what I prefer.”

Nolofinwë rose fluidly to his full height and kissed Grandfather. I watched the wall across them in fascination as the distinct shadows of their bodies melted into one. Then the shadow split again and Nolofinwë was turning Grandfather away from him. Horror, revulsion and something else altogether that can only be termed as desperate curiosity filled my senses as Grandfather bent over the table and gripped the edges. 

The shadows played a wild dance on the wall and the flames burned higher and higher in the grate even as flesh conquered flesh. Their cries were unrestrained and their passion sincere, for gentleness and deep affection coloured their voices even amidst this violence. There was a knock on the forge door that went unheeded by them. I wondered what to do. 

“Without you-” Grandfather broke off, gasping and panting.

“Never without me!” Nolofinwë vowed, his eyes glittering with emotion. “You will be never without me.”

The knock sounded again and I rushed through the dark rows to the door. When I opened the door by a crack, I saw an extremely impatient Turkáno. I glanced back once at the two bodies coiled about each other, rising and falling with the same rhythm and four hands wandering above what was theirs. 

“Nolofinwë and Grandfather have left,” I lied to Turkáno as I walked out and locked the door behind me. 

It was the first lie of my life.

 

“Telpë,” Artanis asked once again, “what is bothering you? You have not been yourself all day.”

“It is nothing,” I said. 

I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to ask a hundred questions. How would I ever face Grandfather again?

“Tell me, will you?” Artanis suggested. “It might help.”

“I was in the forge and-” I broke off, realizing that there were no words to relate the rawness of what I had witnessed. 

Her hand came to clasp mine and her clear, blue gaze held patience undiminished. I sighed and began again.

“Grandfather was-”

“Artanis!” Arafinwë rushed into the chamber, his features a magnificent shade of puce. 

I was hastily dismissed. The palace was in an uproar. I tried asking my father who remained grim and unresponsive. My mother said I should prepare for a journey. Confused, worried and frightened, I made my way to the pond behind the mansion. 

“Come, we must leave soon.” Macalaurë’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. He was the last person I had expected to fetch me. When I faced him, his features softened into understanding and he knelt before me saying, “A temporary situation. There is nothing to worry about. Come.”

Something in his clear, penetrating gaze unsettled me. The power of his perception was greater than even that of Artanis, I had heard. 

“What is it?” he asked in a tone that absolutely demanded the truth.

“I saw Grandfather and Nolofinwë,” I blurted out, casting my eyes desolately to the pebbles by the pond shore.

Silence fell between us, prolonged and uncomfortable. Finally, his hand squeezed my shoulder and I turned unwillingly to meet his calm gaze.

“If there is something you wish to ask, and if it is something I can answer, I will tell you.” 

There was no condemnation or anger in his tone. Perhaps there was more to him than his customary arrogance. I weighed my options silently. My father, I could not ask. It was too uncouth to ask Artanis. I would rather drown in the pond than venturing to Grandfather with my questions. I bent down to pick up a pebble and tossed it nervously on my palm.

“Does anyone know?” I asked tentatively. “It is not right, is it?”

“Everyone knows and that is why we are leaving. When things calm down, we shall return.” He sounded so confident that I decided to believe him.

“Won’t Grandmother be upset?” I bit my lips knowing from the quicksilver flash of his eyes that I had crossed a boundary. 

“I cannot answer that,” he said quietly. 

Taking heart from his calm, I asked the single question that had been burning me from the moment when I had seen Grandfather touch Nolofinwë’s cheeks with his fingers. 

“Why are they doing it?”

His eyes widened and for a moment, his lips parted in silent astonishment. Then he gathered himself together and calm veiled his mien.

Dry amusement coloured his tone as he replied solemnly, “Maybe they like doing it.” 

It was the first and definitely not the last time when I had to fight down laughter provoked by his sarcasm. 

“Shall we go now?” He rose to his feet and held out his hand to me.

The gesture was unprecedented and I stared at his long fingers dumbly. 

“Does this end your respect for your Grandfather?” he asked quietly. 

“Of course not!” I said, scalded that he would even have to ask that question. “I don’t understand why they are doing it. But if doing it makes Grandfather happy, I want them to continue. He doesn’t look happy very often.”

“Good,” he said mildly. “I would hate to see your relationship destroyed. It is one of those things that make him truly happy.”

“I thought you hated his work,” I said dubiously. “You never come there.”

“To each his own,” he said matter-of-factly. “His thirst to create runs in your father and in you. The rest of them feign it for his sake. I find it easier to be plain. Fortunately, he accepts my choice not to learn his craft.”

 

We had reached the courtyard where the rest of my father’s family waited. With grim faces and hurried farewells we rode east to Formenos. 

The hard road jolted the pebble that I had secured in a pocket of my tunic. I had displaced the pebble from its abode even as my Grandfather had caused me to lose the only home I had known. I hoped wistfully that the pebble would forgive me as easily as I had forgiven Grandfather. 

“All right, Telpë?” Maitimo’s voice held concern despite his harried features. 

I nodded quietly, wondering if he had taken pebbles along. 

“Let him ride with me,” Grandfather commanded. “He is too young to stay ahorse for the duration of the journey.”

“Very well, Father.” Maitimo helped me dismount. I winced as my legs complained about their ill-treatment. With a sympathetic mutter, Grandfather lifted me and I was sitting before him on his stallion. 

We rode east, stopping not even once to give the horses a reprieve. At some point during the journey, my father sighted a dead raven on the path and called a halt, saying that it was an ill-omen. There was a short debate between Grandfather and him. Grandfather won and we continued our journey. 

Macalaurë began to sing, his voice unaffected by the toils of riding. Peace washed over me and I snuggled into my Grandfather’s cloak contentedly. When his hand came to stroke my hair gifting me reassurance, I slipped into my world of dreams where the grass danced silver in Tyelperion’s dewfall.

* * *

Building the city of Formenos was no mean feat. Grandfather raged and complained because his work in the forge was stalled. My father would keep him company and try to lure him for walks and rides, though he failed more often than not. Tyelkormo and the Ambarussa delighted in exploring the lands to the north and avoided the chaos of the new settlement as much as they could. Carnistro was in charge of supervising the labourers in building the new city. His fluctuating temperament did nothing to help the camp morale. 

Macalaurë took me under his wing and I was now learning to hold a stylus instead of the familiar bellows used in the forge. He was as hard to please as Grandfather and I was left to rue my lot when I saw the carefree games of the labourers’ children. 

I did not see Maitimo often in those days. The glimpses I saw of him were mostly when he rode in or left the settlement. He lived on horseback. Macalaurë told me that it was because Nolofinwë required Maitimo’s aid in state matters. 

“Carnistro!” Grandfather stormed into the tent. “When will they finish setting up my forge?”

“Father, we are short of labour. The living quarters, you will agree, have to take priority,” Carnistro said briskly as he studied the plans. 

“You will set up my forge first,” Grandfather growled, looking furious. “Do you have an inkling of how this delay costs me?”

“Fëanáro,” Finwë intervened, “he does understand. I am sure that he will do all that he can to have your forge built first.”

Grandfather glared at his father before turning to look at Carnistro again. 

“Yes, I promise.” 

“Very well,” Grandfather said before storming away again. Finwë threw Carnistro a meaningful glance before following Grandfather. 

“I can’t do this!” Carnistro exclaimed in frustration as he swept the plans away from the makeshift table. “He expects miracles.”

“Can I help?” I asked sincerely. 

I wanted to help. He looked miserable. I went over to his side and picked up the plans from the ground. He snatched them from me and gruffly patted my shoulder.

“Never mind, Telpë. You should be out and about with the other lads. Go riding or hunting, child. You are too young to be cooped like this. Do something you like doing, for a change. Away with you!”

Flustered by his concern, I said hesitantly, “I could-”

“Yes, Telpë. You could, and there will be time for that later. Now, stay out of your grandfather’s sight and enjoy your day.”

I hastily obeyed him and left the tent before he could change his mind. To be fair, he was always kindly disposed towards me, as were the rest of my family. They took an active interest in my education. It was as if they all sought to draw me into their sphere of excellence. 

Tyelkormo wanted to take me to Oromë. Ambarussa had told me that I was welcome to hunt with them. Carnistro tried to interest me in architecture. Maitimo had often sought to draw me into verbal sparring with him though his harried life did not allow him to lavish his energy and time on his nephew. Grandfather and Father were the greatest influences in my life. I knew that I had to follow in their footsteps. If I did not, I would lose their companionship during work. I was very lonely. My family indulged me with gifts and encouraging words. But I had none to play with or to actually speak to. The interactions I had with my father and my grandfather in the forge were the closest to a conversation in those days.

“If you are going to stand and dream all day, I would advise you to get away from the road.” Macalaurë’s teasing voice broke into my thoughts.

“You have never given me singing lessons,” I said absently. 

“With the numerous courses my brothers and father have prepared for you, I doubt you will have the time to devote to something as unprofitable as singing,” he remarked as he drew me away from the road into the woods nearby.

“Is that why?” I asked, feeling very unhappy all of a sudden. It was not fair, the way they sought to control my life. I had hoped that at least Macalaurë had no ambitions for me.

“No,” he said amusedly. “I have better things to do with my time than wasting it on singing lessons.”

I grinned despite myself at his arrogance. 

“Prince!”

It was Melkor. I suppressed a groan and turned away. His coming usually resulted in my grandfather’s temper flaring high. 

“Yes, Lord?” Macalaurë asked. “The forge is not ready.”

“I heard,” Melkor sighed. “This sudden turn of events has unsettled us all. Manwë has judged harshly, methinks.”

Macalaurë shrugged, offering no reply. It was one of his remarkable qualities; this unshakeable calm. Melkor seemed to realize it for he dropped the subject.

“How fares your noble father?”

“He is in excellent spirits,” Macalaurë replied. “What brings you here, Lord?”

“Aulë has found a new alloy. He wishes Fëanáro to judge it. He has sent a sample with me. But I daresay this is not a particularly good time.”

“If you would wait, I will fetch my brother, Atarinkë. He might be able to help,” Macalaurë said politely. “Telpë, come with me.”

“No, let the young one stay. I shall entertain him,” Melkor offered most graciously. 

Macalaurë looked at me. I nodded and he left on his errand. 

“Fëanáro told me that your skills in the forge surpass belief.”

He must have been very close to Grandfather, because Grandfather did not normally confide in his fellow-workers. My trusting nature did not even consider the fact that he might be lying. 

“What metal do you prefer?” he asked me, with all the solemnity that was usually reserved for equals.

So carried away was I by this that I easily succumbed to the lure of his conversation. Soon, I was telling him about Grandfather’s most recent creations and ideas. Melkor had a ready collection of anecdotes that held me enthralled. I was laughing at one of his tales when he paused abruptly, his brows knitted in a deep frown. He was looking at a group of riders across the road. 

“What brings you here?” Maitimo dismounted and walked over to us.

“I came to visit my friend, Nelyafinwë,” Melkor said smoothly. “You seem weary. Constant travel does not suit the Quendi as it suits my kind, does it?”

“You will not sully this place,” Maitimo said in a tone of quiet menace that I never wished to hear again. “Leave, and I will say no more.”

“Taken counsel with your mother, have you?” Melkor leant in so that his eyes bored into Maitimo’s. “If her wisdom was not enough to hold Fëanáro, do you think it shall suffice to prevail over mine?”

“I know what you plan, Lord,” Maitimo said softly, his grey eyes raking Melkor’s features undauntedly. “I will not let it come to pass.”

“Prince,” Melkor raised a hand and touched Maitimo’s sharp cheekbone. “You are wise and brave. But my plans have been set in motion. Do what you can to stop me.”

“Why do you hate us so?” Maitimo asked, his courage giving way to weary resignation. 

I could see Macalaurë coming down the path. Relieved, I waited for him to join us. This was frightening me.

“I don’t hate you, Nelyafinwë.” Melkor’s voice seemed as sincere as ever. “But I do hate the woman who brought forth a fire greater than mine. Now that I have tethered the fire to the Silmarilli, I care not for petty rivalries. Let me offer you a truce. The world is large enough for us all.”

“Not when you covet my father’s fire,” Maitimo said sharply. “I shall take this matter to-”

“To Manwë, perhaps?” Melkor laughed. “Dear Nelyafinwë, you are living blasphemy. Think you that Manwë will listen to your plea? Accept my truce and we shall stay out of each other’s way. Now I must see your father.”

“You are forbidden to enter Formenos,” Maitimo said quietly. “You will not enjoy the hospitality of my people again, Lord.”

“Sad,” Melkor murmured. “But not unexpected. Perhaps a day shall come when you require my hospitality, Prince. Then we shall indulge in this game of words at our leisure. For now, I shall leave. Give my fondest regards to your father.”

Maitimo did not reply, his eyes calmly holding Melkor’s amused gaze. 

The Vala turned to face me and bestowed an affectionate caress to my head saying, “Do your grandfather proud and excel at your craft, young lord. Fame and fortune be yours in the forge.”

After he had left, Maitimo remained standing where he was, his eyes cold and distant. 

“What happened?” Macalaurë joined him and watched Melkor walking away. “Father wanted to see him.”

“I have banned him from Formenos. I shall prepare a list and give it to the guards. Allow no others entry to the city.” Maitimo’s tone brooked no argument. 

“Father shall not be pleased,” Macalaurë said calmly. “You cannot rule Formenos as you ruled Tirion, brother. Father does not trust your counsel as Grandfather and Nolofinwë do.”

“Father has no experience in ruling a city. Whether he trusts me or not, I will not stand aside while he loses all to pride and folly.”

“Hush!” Macalaurë said crisply as a few labourers eyed Maitimo nervously. “Come with me.” 

“Very well.” Maitimo gave in with a wan smile. “Telpë, run along and put this out of your mind.”

“But what is wrong, Maitimo?” I asked worriedly. “I told him about Grandfather’s most recent work.”

“It is of no consequence.” He used that smooth, reassuring tone which was his finest weapon. “Now, as I said, don’t worry about this. It is merely rivalry between smiths.” 

But I knew it was not. The more confident he sounded, the less confident he actually was; Artanis had once remarked so. I wished she had been here. She would have told me what was wrong. 

I watched sullenly as Macalaurë led his brother away, a sardonic smile playing on his lips provoked by whatever Maitimo had said.

 

 

The city was built and we dwelt there, spending our time in those pursuits of hunting and riding that my father and uncles were so fond of. I studied lore under Finwë and swordsmanship under Findekáno who would often visit. But more time did I spend under my Grandfather’s eye as I worked with Father and him in the large forge of Formenos. Time passed in its slow, unremarkable manner and we were nearing the termination of the Exile. 

Grandfather’s temper became increasingly frayed and even Father was often hard put to get along with him. I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Often, I would ride away south with Macalaurë to meet Artanis. As days passed, those rides were the only events I looked forward to. Arguments between Grandfather and Macalaurë escalated at home and my mother would retire immediately after meals, not wishing to stand witness to yet another fiery battle of words between them. 

The days when Maitimo came home were worse. Grandfather would deliberately accuse him of not being loyal to the family, saying that Maitimo preferred visiting Nolofinwë in Tirion to helping Grandfather in Formenos.

“Fëanáro,” Finwë said gently during one such tirade, “you cannot believe everything you hear.”

“If two voices are in concord, then there must be truth in their song!” 

Grandfather was pacing impatiently, looking every bit a caged panther; dark, dangerous and destructive. My father and my uncles were silent as they waited for him to finish. It was always better to let him finish. I was sitting with my mother and listening warily to the argument. 

“I will not accept Maitimo’s suggestion. I shall not make peace with Arafinwë. He is a clown.”

“You are no politician. But Arafinwë is one,” Finwë said in his mildest tone, wincing when Grandfather glared daggers at him. “I do wish that you would listen to Maitimo and me when it comes to politics. Remaining in Formenos after the Exile is not advisable. Tirion is our High-City and that is where you belong, as do the rest of us. Make peace with Arafinwë and let us live again.” 

“Father,” Carnistro interceded. “Governance is not easy.”

“You are a prince and must learn it, whether you find it easy or otherwise!” Grandfather said sharply. “I shall not leave this city after the tenure of that ridiculous arrangement comes to an end. I want you in charge of the daily administration of Formenos. Atarinkë is needed in the forge to aid me. Tyelko and the twins don’t have the patience to rule.”

Maitimo shared an exasperated glance with my father and walked out, looking quite harried by the argument.

“It is ironic that you will not trust your firstborn when your father trusted his to the point of abdication,” Macalaurë said suavely, his dark eyes glittering as he met my Grandfather’s incredulous glare with equanimity. 

“Sleeping with Artanis has diluted your loyalties,” Grandfather retorted. 

Carnistro winced at the unfair insinuation and I suppressed a scowl, for I was fiercely devoted to my aunt. Macalaurë’s lips turned up in one of his rare smiles.

“I didn’t mean that,” Grandfather sighed. “It is overwhelming. I cannot rule. I love my work deeply. Formenos suits me. I want to stay here. Father, you must aid Carnistro. He shall rule. Macalaurë, if you can put behind my occasional lapses of patience, will you take charge of the family?”

“I am yours to command, Father,” Macalaurë said simply. “But we have-”

“I know! I know!” Grandfather exclaimed. “He shall be Crown Prince.”

Silence fell and my mother’s hand stole into mine. I squeezed it, my eyes held in thrall by the dark fire burning in Grandfather’s eyes.

Tyelkormo voiced the question that we burned to ask. “Father, you cannot mean to-”

“Abdicate? Yes, I mean it.” He included us in one assessing gaze. Then he walked to Macalaurë and said quietly, “Make him understand. I have spoken to Nerdanel. I abdicate in his favour because I trust him where I cannot trust myself.”

“Father, why the sudden decision?” Macalaurë began worriedly. “Are the rumours about the Silmarilli true?”

“Summon your brother,” Grandfather said simply. “There is something that I need to tell you.”

Macalaurë nodded and left the chamber. The rest of us waited, unsettled, as Grandfather paced back and forth before the hearth. When Maitimo joined us, Grandfather walked to his side and placed a perfunctory kiss to his right cheek. Maitimo’s eyes met Finwë’s veiled gaze for a moment before he embraced Grandfather and returned the gesture.

“Melkor is wise. He taught me much Aulë did not know or did not wish to teach,” Grandfather began speaking in a low, passion-ridden tone. “But I knew him. I knew his weakness for the light. When I embarked on my supreme creation, I did not keep him in my counsels. It was my lore, my power and my skill that I harnessed. The rumours are untrue; the jewels are free of Melkor’s taint, if taint there is.”

“Lore and skill, I do not doubt,” Carnistro said quietly, in the silence that fell. “You are the wisest of us and your skill is unequalled, Father. But what of power? You are Quendi, despite your might. It is not given to us to match the power the Gods wield.”

Grandfather did not reply. And Tyelkormo gasped in realization. So may have I as understanding finally dawned upon us all. 

“The heart of Fëanáro is fast bound to the jewels that he created, so speak the rumours, and they are right,” Grandfather said softly, the fire in his eyes giving away to desolation and regret. “It was folly, and yet I would do it again.”

“Fool!” Finwë hissed. “I have lost your mother, Fëanáro! I will not lose you. We shall see Manwë and decide on what to do. The Silmarilli must be destroyed, and your heart freed from the bond.”

“My mother would have lived if she had destroyed me. She valued the son you created in her above her own life. Why would that son choose differently? I shall die than suffering my creations to be destroyed!” 

Finwë spoke stricken, “You wound me ever, Fëanáro. Loving you has claimed everything else I loved; your mother, my kingdom, my people, my children and your step-mother. Now will it claim your life too, child? Will I live to see you die as she did?”

“It will not happen, Grandfather,” Maitimo stepped between them, his grey eyes earnest. “I swear to you, it shall not happen.”

“I cannot give up the Silmarilli,” Grandfather said plainly. 

“For baubles of light do you trade your fire, Fëanáro. I cannot bear it,” Finwë said sadly. “I shall send messengers to Manwë and implore his aid, in that I will not be overruled. King I am not, but a father I remain. Will you deny me that, my son?”

Grandfather did not reply and Finwë left the chamber. 

My father broke the silence saying, “Thank you for telling us. We can find a solution in time, Father. We shall.”

“He is right,” Tyelkormo said softly. “We are all with you.”

“That is what I fear,” Grandfather murmured before walking away with slumped shoulders.

Maitimo said quietly, “The day of our return to Tirion draws nearer. During my last visit to Valmar, Ingwë said that the Valar will host a great feast in Taniquetil to celebrate the supposed reconciliation between Father and Nolofinwë. Things shall calm. Fear not.”

“Must you keep journeying back and forth, brother?” My father asked. “We need you here. Father has become deeply troubled in mind, and you know it.”

“I know. But equally do our people need me in Tirion, Atarinkë,” Maitimo said. “It is but for a while longer.”

“So I trust,” Father replied. 

 

I left them to their discussions after my mother chose to retire. As I crossed the large terrace overlooking the gardens in the course of my way towards the inner wing of the palace, I saw Grandfather standing there with his arms leaning on the bannisters. A deep instinct urged me to go to his side. 

He did not turn to look at me though I cleared my throat once to alert him to my presence, knowing well how deeply preoccupied by thoughts he often was. But his lips moved and words drunken on wretched sadness left them.

“To dream, to toil for that and to finally grasp the dream within your hands, only to watch terrified as it slips through your fingers drawing along away with it all that you loved; my dear Telpë, never make that mistake.”

“It will be all right, Grandfather,” I said in a small voice, frightened by the hopelessness dancing in his eyes where once fire had shined proudly.

“That, Telpë, is a fool’s dream. Everything I touched, everything I wrought and everything I loved shall fall. Dreams are as dew, they never last.”

* * *

The Silmarilli were not placed in our treasury though rumours spoke thus. Instead, my Grandfather and Father had built a safe in the floor of the dining chamber of our family wing. The grand cypress table was placed in such a manner that the midpoint of the table’s surface corresponded to the top left corner of the safe. Within this cubby hole dwelt the box that held the Silmarilli. Thus it was that one needed to know the location of the safe, the key to the safe and then the key to the box. Both Grandfather and Father had keys to the safe, though only Grandfather had the key to the box. Of my uncles, Carnistro and Macalaurë knew of the location of the safe. Tyelkormo and the twins were not trusted enough and Maitimo had told Grandfather that he did not wish to know.

As the year of the great feast drew near, tempers ran high and I tried to be out of everyone’s way as much as I could. 

“I am riding south next week to meet Artanis,” Macalaurë informed us during one relatively peaceful meal.

“Can’t you wait till the feast? You will see her there,” Grandfather said briskly. “You are required to help Carnistro with the administration.”

“I will stay,” Maitimo offered. “Let him go. It has been a while.”

“You are to ride to Aulë. I have a message that must be delivered by trusted hands.” Grandfather glared at him. 

“I will go, Grandfather,” I piped up excitedly. They allowed me to ride to Tirion alone and meet Artanis. Surely, they would trust me to reach Aulë’s lands without losing my way.

Grandfather frowned and turned his gaze to me. I pasted on my most hopeful expression and waited. Finwë chuckled and placed his hand on Grandfather’s wrist.

“Very well then,” Grandfather said with a wry smile. “If your father has no objection.”

“I don’t,” Father winked at me. “Come to my chambers after the meal and I shall read out the same list of warnings that your grandfather used to read out for us whenever we travelled away from home.”

“That grail survives yet?” Carnistro laughed. “Why, Atarinkë! You seem to have robbed us all of our inheritance.”

“If you wish to divide the parchment into seven, you are welcome to,” Father retorted.

“I shall be magnanimous. You can divide into six,” Maitimo said hastily. “I am not exactly eager to see that scrap of utter tyranny again in my life.”

“As if you ever obeyed a single instruction of the list!” Grandfather rolled his eyes. “Luckily for you, your uncle always intervened before I could take a cane to your hide.”

“And a very well-formed hide it is.” Maitimo stretched in his chair and shot his father a coy look that made us all roar with laughter.

“Whoever did you employ that on?” Father enquired. “Not Findekáno?”

“Not Findekáno.” Maitimo smirked. “And I am not telling you, brother. I am not married and can be as degenerate as I crave.”

“I hope there is nothing very degenerate. A scandal could be costly, given the current political situation,” Finwë remarked concernedly.

“Father,” Grandfather interrupted before Maitimo could reply. “He came running to me when that girl he had been wooing tried to nibble on his ear. I hardly think he will wield riding crops in an inventive manner.”

Maitimo turned a delicate shade of crimson while we laughed at his expense. I did not comprehend what the inventive use for riding crops involved, but the laughter was contagious. Finally, when the mirth showed no sign of abating, he rose to his feet with a huff and glowered at Grandfather before stalking out of the chamber, his head held high.

The ribald conversation continued and infectious merriness spread even to Macalaurë and Ambarto, who were the sternest of us all. In moments like those, as we feasted and laughed, I would forget that the jewels lay beneath the table and that Grandfather had bound his soul to them. 

 

I was heading to my Grandfather’s chambers the next day. I would fetch him and together we would head to the forge. This had become routine for us. I saw Macalaurë standing on the terrace where once I had stood listening to Grandfather’s lament. 

To my pleasant surprise, Macalaurë was talking merrily with my mother. He had a way with women, according to my Father. I had never thought of that before. Now that I cast my mind over the past, countless instances of women falling prey to my uncle’s smouldering gaze and mellifluous words had happened right before my eyes. I thought of my own failed attempt in catching the eye of the pretty maid who was my mother’s attendant. Perhaps I should learn from Macalaurë.

I let myself into my Grandfather’s antechamber and called softly. It was then that I heard voices from the other entry which led directly into the bedchamber. I opened the parting curtain and peeped through, curious who had sought him so early in the day.

“I hope you were not offended. I was merely teasing you,” Grandfather was saying. He was standing on the threshold of the chamber, leaning lazily against the doorframe. 

“I have learnt to take such barbs in my stride, used as I am to dear Macalaurë’s tongue,” Maitimo said. “But truly, the mortification is to fade. I still am embarrassed to the point of flushing when I see her on the road. How did you do it, Father? I simply cannot bring myself to it. Sometimes I wonder if…Even Macalaurë has managed. I thought he never would.”

Grandfather chuckled and patted Maitimo’s shoulder affectionately before saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “Perhaps you take after your uncle, son of mine?”

“Of course not!” Maitimo exclaimed, utterly scandalized. “I love women!”

“How do you know?” Grandfather snorted. 

“Trust me, I do!” Maitimo said grumpily. “It is merely that I cannot bring myself to the act.” 

“At any rate, if you don’t fare well in that endeavour, even Telpë will leave you behind. The maids are all taken with him and he is a charmer; takes after his father, I daresay.”

I had to smother my gasp in the curtains before me. That Grandfather thought my first venture into the realm of the boudoir was taking shape well made me dizzy.

“Atarinkë takes after you,” Maitimo muttered. “So why wonder that Telpë has a way with women? And yes, I did see him flirting with his mother’s chambermaid. He has a fine technique.”

“Truth be said, it is Macalaurë who takes after me, not that he and I would ever admit it even if our lives were at stake.”

“And who do I take after?” Maitimo asked querulously. “Certainly not Mother. She is less inhibited than I am.”

“You are not inhibited. You are too proud,” Grandfather said kindly. 

“This from you, Father?” 

“I am not as proud as you are to cede control. You fear being vulnerable. And losing yourself to passion makes one vulnerable.”

“How do you know that, O wise sire of mine?” Maitimo laughed, though there was a darkening in his eyes that I had never seen before.

“Because,” Grandfather leant in and said softly, “they say that my mother was so. Father once told me that their courting lasted for an unforgivably long time since she did not wish for physical intimacy. She was a proud woman and her blood has made you what you are. Though once she understood that pride was not harmed by congress, she was very receptive. Now, away with you! Give me a scion before Telpë gives me a great grandson. That is all I ask! Ingwë’s granddaughter is renowned for her beauty. At the feast in Taniquetil, my father shall introduce you to her. A year of courting, a year of betrothal and then the marriage; it will be a powerful alliance.”

“Father-” Maitimo hesitated, then swallowed and turned away to leave. Grandfather gripped my uncle’s wrist and stayed him. 

“You are my son and no son of my loins shall be cold to passion. Don’t fear, Maitimo. The passion will come when the time is right.”

“I suppose I shall take your word for it,” Maitimo said wryly before walking away, his gait as proud and unbowed as ever.

Grandfather sighed as the footsteps receded and then he closed the door. 

“Grandfather?”

“Telpë!” He shoved aside the curtains and peered at me. Now we were of the same height and he no longer had to look down at me. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” I said, feeling quite out of place. “But you had asked me to come sharply on time.”

“It is not of much consequence. A proposal from Ingwë: his granddaughter and your uncle. You might have heard of her beauty.”

“I have,” I replied. He seemed in good spirits. So I took the opportunity to ask, “Is Maitimo worried because she is older than him?”

Grandfather laughed and patted my shoulder kindly before turning to his mirror and combing his hair with brisk efficiency. When he spoke, he did not meet my eyes in the glass.

“Age does not matter in a political alliance. I married for love, Telpë. Arafinwë married for gain. So Nolofinwë was left to make a political match. Now that I am abdicating in favour of Maitimo, he should marry and sire heirs. He prefers a political marriage. Ingwë offered his granddaughter’s hand and Maitimo does not have any objection.”

“But Grandfather!” I gasped and his eyes met mine warily. “It is not fair on both of them! They don’t even know each other.” 

“Nobody is pushing them into it blindfolded.”

I had developed a method all of my own in the forge. He respected me for it, for he had always respected creation and innovation. Ever since my majority, he had treated me as an equal. No longer did he ask me to assist him on his projects. Instead, he encouraged me to dream, design and create, telling me that it was time to spread my wings. 

Now, I called forth on our mutual respect and asked the question that had been burning me, “Why did he sound so unhappy then, if he knows well the implications of such a marriage?”

Grandfather sighed and paused combing. 

“I have never understood him, Telpë. I would give anything to.” 

His words were uttered in a helpless, sad tone that wrenched my heart. I remained silent, not knowing what to say. 

“He holds back,” Grandfather said finally. “Even with Nolofinwë and Macalaurë, he holds back. That was not how it had been. But he is dutiful and shall marry when we ask him to. I find myself wishing that he was half as rebellious as Macalaurë is.”

I was about to interrupt when he asked distractedly, “What is Macalaurë doing today?”

“I heard Father saying that he had persuaded Macalaurë to hunt with Maitimo. Do you have need of Macalaurë’s aid today, Grandfather?”

“Are they going alone?” Grandfather demanded.

“I think that they are.” 

There was a strange emotion lurking in his eyes as he renewed his pacing. I knew it was time to end the conversation. His temper had taken a turn for the worse.

“You may continue on your way, Telpë. I am not in a mood to wrest with metal. It is not as if I gain much from the endeavour.” 

Grandfather’s words made me stare wide-eyed at him. He glared at me and I nodded shakily. Silence fell between us and when he waved his hand dismissively, I hurried out. How he could treat me as an equal and a confidant one moment and revert to scaring me in the next instant was beyond my comprehension. 

 

Carnistro insisted upon an escort of seven for my journey to Aulë’s lands. Also, he lectured at great length about the protocols I had to adhere to when representing our house at Aulë’s court. Grandfather and Mother had their own advice to impart. Father was worse, instructing me about the precautions to be taken regarding personal hygiene and coital activities. So graphic and forbidding were his words that I winced more than once in the course of his speech. Macalaurë’s parting words were quintessentially Macalaurë.

“Barns and stables are not ideal locations for congress. Hay in certain holes is not conducive to the activities.”

The twinkle in his eyes ensured that I flushed to my fingertips. Knowing how uninhibited Artanis and Macalaurë were, I did not even contemplate asking about the holes he had referred to. 

The journey was fast and easy. I chanced to meet the convoy of Indis. She was heading north to Formenos. I was subjected to yet more advice before she bid me fare well with a kiss to my forehead.

Contrary to popular gossip, there was deep affection between Indis and Grandfather. True, he did not call her mother. But neither did she call him Fëanáro. Their mutual regard ensured that such things were trivial. He respected women and was highly susceptible to feminine persuasion wielded by members of his family. Among those women who could persuade him was Indis. In his own way, he had always tried to convince Finwë to love Indis as she deserved. But even from an early age, I had seen that it could never be. The heart of Finwë would always belong to the woman whose portraits adorned our palaces. 

“Was she more beautiful than Indis?” I had once asked Artanis. “Is that why Finwë cannot love Indis?” 

She had thought upon that for a moment before answering quietly, “What is lost to us, we love more.”

I was not convinced. To be frank, Artanis was not sentimentally inclined. The subject of hearts and loves was better discussed with passionate Irissë. 

 

The mansions of Aulë were in the middle of Aman, and there he laboured with his people. For in the making of all things in that land he had the chief part, and he wrought there many beautiful and shapely works both openly and in secret. Of him comes the lore and knowledge of the Earth and of all things that it contains: whether the lore of those that make not, but seek only for the understanding of what is, or the lore of an craftsmen: the weaver, the shaper of wood, and the worker in metals; and the tiller and husbandman also, though these last and all that deal with things that grow and bear fruit must look also to the spouse of Aulë, Yavanna Kementári. 

Aulë it is who is named the friend of the Noldor, and the friend of the house of Finwë. Grandfather respected Aulë and came as close to obedience as he could bring himself to when it involved the Vala’s wishes. 

Bearing that fact in mind, I held my head high and bid my herald raise the flag of our house and rode into the courtyard of Aulë, my right hand over my breastplate. A bugle sounded and a strong voice hailed me.

“Welcome to the realm of Aulë, Prince of the House of Finwë!” 

My eyes were instantly locked with the steady gaze of one who stood on the threshold of the mansion, his tall frame elegantly attired in simple robes. I dismounted and let the stablehands escort my mare away. The aide of Aulë held my gaze as he descended the steps and stood before me. Then he proffered a warm smile of welcome and accompanied that by a crisp bow. 

“Mairon, Counsellor to Lord Aulë, at your service,” he said smoothly, his eyes sparkling in curiosity as they regarded me.

“And Telperinquar at yours, Lord Mairon,” I replied. 

He nodded and escorted me into the palatial mansion, all the while making easy conversation. As we walked, I discovered that he was a good listener. Growing up within my family home, I had never known anyone who preferred listening to speaking. Maitimo was, but he rarely found the time to indulge me. Mairon was different. He was genuinely interested in my observations about the architecture of the mansion. He countered my opinions often and debated ferociously when he did not agree. But he did not patronise me as was Grandfather’s wont. 

“Some would say that you are too young to be travelling, Prince,” he remarked as we passed through a large archway that led to beautiful gardens.

“My grandfather’s brother, Arafinwë, travelled to Alqualondë alone when he was younger than I am now,” I said, feeling unhappy that he thought me incapable of being an emissary.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to sound patronising, Prince!” he said hastily. “I respect you. Tales of your work have reached the forges of Aulë and we expect you to exceed your Grandfather’s brilliance one day.”

His warm praise flustered me and I could not help a flattered grin as I said half-heartedly, “Grandfather is one of a kind. We would do well not to draw comparisons with him.”

“Indeed,” Mairon nodded. “Though long it has been since your Grandfather graced these forges with his presence, we have not forgotten the unparalleled genius that he embodies.”

“Have you worked with him, Lord Mairon?” I asked, intrigued by the tone of familiarity that he employed. 

“He preferred to work alone, Prince. Not even my Lord Aulë could prevail upon your Grandfather to cooperate in a work of the forge. And what of you? Do you hold to his ways?”

“No,” I said sincerely. “I love working with my father. Grandfather taught me and he did not mind my presence. He works with Father often.”

“Perhaps even Fëanáro is not susceptible to the hold of bloodlines!” Mairon laughed. “Lord Aulë will be pleased to hear that his beloved friend is finally learning the virtues of cooperation.”

I did not know what to reply. The only person barring family whom Grandfather had agreed to cooperate with was Melkor and it had ended with Maitimo’s harsh dismissal of the Vala. Grandfather was partial where family was concerned. But I could hardly admit it. So I contented myself with a small nod and then asked him another question about the tempering process he had been talking about earlier. His face shone with enthusiasm as he began describing his work. I sensed a like spirit, he was as me, a craftsman devoted to his work and taking pride in it. 

He led me to the great hall where Aulë and Yavanna sat enthroned. Aulë rose from his throne and came down the dais to embrace me.

“Fëanáro’s protégé!” he exclaimed. “Blessed are we to have your presence here amongst us, young Telperinquar!”

“Blessed I am to be here in your court, My Lord,” I recited politely. Carnistro had trained me till I could rattle off those lines even in my sleep.

“How fares the old rascal?” Aulë asked cheerfully. “I have not seen him after he tried to behead his brother in Finwë’s court.”

I wondered what my Grandfather would have to say if he had heard himself being addressed as an ‘old rascal’. But my lips moved obediently, supplying the words I had learnt by rote. 

“He fares well, my lord. He was most distressed that he could not come himself, for he wished to pay his respects to you.”

“I can’t believe he said that,” Aulë remarked with a twinkle in his eyes. “The last time I summoned him, he sent a summons in return. He is a feisty one, your grandfather.”

I remained silent. Carnistro had not taught me what to say to such a remark. For the first time, I realized why Grandfather loved Aulë. The Vala was refreshingly honest.

“Why did he part with his precious protégé?” Yavanna asked, her eyes taking in my form with interest. “Didn’t he once say that he would never let his little apprentice out of the range of his eyes?”

“I requested Grandfather to allow me this commission for I was eager to see your realm,” I bowed to the lady. She rose from her throne and came to join her husband. 

“Welcome to our realm, Telperinquar,” she said warmly and I went down on a knee to press a chaste kiss to her hand as Carnistro had instructed. “Mairon,” she turned to the Maia, “see that he lacks for nothing.”

“It would be my pleasure, lady.” Mairon bowed. 

“Come with me now. I take it that Fëanáro has a message for me?” Aulë drew me away to his study. 

“Yes, my lord.” I watched fascinated at the ornate works of craft adorning his chamber. Such rich diversity I had never seen before. They were magnificent, yet unique from each other defined as they were by the touches of the craftsman who had wrought each one.

“Gifts from my students,” Aulë informed me. “Would you be able to spot out your grandsire’s work from the display, Prince?”

I nodded my assent and began walking around the chamber, intently examining each piece of craft. Some were too ornate and I did not bother to cast a second glance, for my grandfather’s style was more elegant than showy. Instinct seemed to have failed me, for I could not discern his craft despite more than three rounds of inspection. Frowning, I was about to admit defeat in chagrin. It would not help my rapport with Aulë to confess that I could not identify my teacher’s craft. When I turned to face him, he was smiling. Then I saw it; a lone, simply wrought clasp of fine silver that adorned his cloak at the neck. 

“It was his first creation. He had been very young and did not even know that he had used silver. I was overwhelmed by his brilliance then, for all by himself had he prospected for the lode and wrought the clasp by the tools he devised. Richer gifts he has sent, but this remains the closest to my heart. To me, it embodies the burning desire to create that remains your grandfather’s driving force.” 

Then I knew that nothing I ever crafted would match my grandfather’s creations. He was unique and I would always fade in comparison to him as silver does to gold.

We spoke of the message I had brought and he dismissed me, saying that he would need time to compose a reply. 

 

I was again entrusted to the able care of Mairon, who took me to the many forges and smithies, his steady conversation holding my attention all day. I was used to charismatic conversationalists; my family had bred them aplenty. But Mairon could hold his own with any of them, I felt. He was very passionate when he talked of his work and the future. By contrast, I felt disillusioned. Aulë’s words had told me the bitter truth; I would never equal Grandfather. Perhaps I should have chosen words and diplomacy over the forge. I had always thought that Macalaurë’s rebellion was spurred by pride than need. But now I understood his wisdom in choosing a path away from his father’s craft. 

“You are deep in your thoughts, Prince. Perhaps I might leave you to them, if my conversation hinders your concentration?” Mairon asked politely.

I did not know what made me ask him, but I did. “Have you ever thought that you cannot escape the shadows of those who came before you?”

He frowned and examined his fingernails thoughtfully before saying, “Every craftsman feels so at some point of his life. All that matters is ambition, Prince. If you have ambition, it shall take you to the heights.”

“But have you felt that the heights you can reach are lower than that another can conquer, even if you gave it your all?” I pressed on, as the turmoil consumed me alive. 

“Indeed, I have. I know that I cannot match Melkor or Aulë when it comes to creation, Prince. Nor can I match your grandfather. But I set greater store on ambition than talent. Your skills can take you only till a point. It is only ambition that can set you apart.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

He cast a discreet glance around before saying quietly, “Merely this, Prince. Your grandfather is content to rest on his laurels now that he has made the Silmarilli. He has no ambition to use the jewels to gain him anything else. So it is with Aulë. He creates and he is content. I seek to create that which I can employ to gain certain ends in other matters.”

Grandfather would have been locked away in his chambers by Finwë if he even dared to embark on a project more ambitious than the Silmarilli, I reflected wryly. But apart from that, Mairon’s words stirred something in me. I had never thought of craft beyond craft’s sake.

“Ambition led Melkor to evil once,” I said quietly.

Mairon nodded, sadness colouring his eyes. Then he said, “We must have the strength to withstand the darker side of ambition, Prince. That is what shall set an ideal craftsman apart from the rest.”

“If a Vala could not resist ambition, my lord, then can the lesser kindred aspire to that?” I asked dubiously, becoming fascinated by his views.

“Whyever not, my prince?” Mairon asked smoothly. “Of course they can. You forget that one of the Quendi captured light before any of the Valar or Maiar could.”

“He is different,” I argued.

Mairon’s gaze held mine unwaveringly as he said, “That gold is remarkable does not mean silver is not so.”

* * *

“How do you measure a person?” Mairon asked me as we walked together through the gardens of Yavanna. 

It was the last day of my stay in the realm of Aulë. We had become close, Mairon and I, spending days together in the forge and in outdoor pursuits. I had come to respect his fine intellect and ingrained ambition. He claimed that he admired my dedication and creative genius. We had broached tentative ideas that would allow us to work together in our domain. 

Perhaps I could persuade Grandfather to allow me an apprenticeship under Aulë. The craftsmen had a union, which allowed them to collaborate. It was a stark contrast from the selfishness that was a hallmark of Grandfather’s forge. Grandfather worked for the sake of fame and posterity. These craftsmen in the forges of Aulë toiled for the betterment of community. 

“Prince, you are deep in your thoughts,” Mairon remarked. “Might I be of aid?”

“I was thinking of the future,” I admitted. “After my family returns to Tirion, I would take an apprenticeship under Aulë.”

Mairon laughed saying, “Think you that there is aught Aulë can teach which your grandfather cannot?”

“Even Grandfather cannot know everything, Mairon, though I am sure he would be flattered to hear your words of praise.”

“I never praise. You should know that by now. I merely state the facts. Aulë has not captured light. Your grandfather has.”

“That Aulë did not try to embark on such an endeavour does not necessarily mean he is incapable of the achievement, Mairon.”

“Be that as it may, Prince, I shall not be pulled into a debate today. Let us not part in discord, my dear friend.”

Nobody had addressed me thus before. Inexplicable warmth blossomed within me and emerged as a nervous smile on my visage.

“I am honoured that you consider me a friend,” I said sincerely.

“I hope it holds reciprocally?” he teased.

“Of course!” 

“And that brings us back to my question, Prince. Why do you consider me a friend? How does one judge a person?”

By what measure does our mind judge those we meet? It varied, I had discovered that early in life. Grandfather judged people on merit of their craftsmanship. Artanis chose her acquaintances on basis of intellect. Tyelkormo would judge one on the skills possessed in riding and hunting. My father weighed people in terms of obedience. To Findekáno, loyalty was the measure of judgement. To Irissë, it was passion. Macalaurë valued brutal honesty. What attribute Maitimo used to thresh the grain from the chaff in the harvest of his many acquaintances, I had never fathomed. 

And what was the coin I used to measure people with? It might have been words, for I was often impressed by oratorical skills. It might have been beauty of craftsmanship since I had inherited more than one of my Grandfather’s traits. 

Why did I like Mairon? Was it because he was an excellent conversationalist and a fellow craftsman? Or that he believed I would one day surpass Grandfather?

“It is a mix of reasons, most of them hard to explain.” I carefully plodded through my thoughts for a while longer before continuing. “Sensibility, talent, shared interests, frankness and many more. What is your view?”

“I measure a person in terms of ambition,” he replied, introspection darkening his eyes. “I have found that associating with those who lack in ambition usually results in stagnation or worse, degeneration.”

His tones registered ill with my ears and my heart. He lived among craftsmen who gave their all to the betterment of others. Ambition went hand-in-hand with selfishness. How could he measure his peers by their ambition?

I said frostily, “I am afraid that I have never been ambitious. I must rank low in your measure.”

His musings cleared and he met my gaze, startled. Quietly, he said, “I don’t flatter myself when I say that I can discern the nature of people. I may not have had the pleasure of knowing you intimately as your family does. But the time I have spent in your company tells me that you don’t lack in ambition. On the contrary, you burn with it.”

“What mean you?” I asked curiously. Apart from the determined pursuit of my mother’s maid, I had never applied ambition to any task I had undertaken.

“You would do anything to prove that you equal your grandfather at our craft,” he answered. “Is that not ambition?”

I smiled ruefully. He had discerned more than I had ever dreamt he would. Overcoming my chagrin, I said blithely, “That is a childish longing, Mairon. I cannot term it ambition.”

“As I said earlier, my dear friend, I would rather not argue. If you think that it is not ambition, then so be it. Come, let us make our way to the brook that lies yonder beyond the copse.”

With those words, he beckoned me forth imperiously and led the way. I did not think more about the conversation immediately. But as I watched the Mingling of the Lights that day, I stared at the twining of gold and silver and wondered bleakly if silver would ever outshine its rival.

 

 

I returned to Formenos bearing messages from Aulë and Yavanna. Indis and many of my father’s cousins had joined our family. 

“How fared you at the court of Aulë?” Carnistro asked me jovially as he came to welcome my convoy.

“Very well!” 

I laughed as I leapt off my mount and rushed to embrace him. For once, he did not push me away with a gruff retort. During the days apart, I had found to my surprise that I missed him terribly. Perhaps he had come to feel the same?

“It has been quiet without you,” he said as he tugged me into the mansion. “Father has been brooding of late. You are the best antidote to that.”

“I bear an epistle from Aulë. It shall cheer Grandfather, for it speaks of good tidings.” 

“That is as well, for Maitimo and Indis have been waging a cold war over reasons known only to them. Be wary at dinner, they might try to engage you in their discord.”

I frowned. To my knowledge, Indis had never spoken a harsh word to anyone in her life. She was kind and gentle. Maitimo’s character, I had never fathomed. But his chivalry was indisputable. Certainly he would not stoop to anything as low as arguing with his father’s step-mother?

“Telpë!” It was Father. He grinned as he came forward to thoroughly enclose me in a ribcracking hug. 

I inhaled contentedly of the familiar scent of perspiration that I had always associated with my father. He patted my shoulder and withdrew, tilting his head and examining my form carefully. 

“He has lost weight, wouldn’t you say so, brother?” he asked Carnistro.

“Indeed.” Carnistro subjected me to one of his sharp glares. “Were you working without respite?”

“No,” I hastily reassured them before they could interrogate further. “I was engaged in outdoor activities with Lord Mairon.”

“The Advisor to Aulë?” Father asked, frowning in displeasure as he took in my appearance. “He did not think of your health overmuch, I daresay.”

“I coaxed him into accompanying him, Father,” I defended Mairon peevishly. “He had often asked me to curb my outdoor activities. It was I who refused to listen.” 

Of course, this was not true. Mairon had never said anything along those lines. But some part of me wanted to defend the first friend I had made outside of my family confines. 

The dinner gong resounded through the corridors then, and I hastily excused myself murmuring that I had to change my travel-worn garments.

 

Dinner was a grander affair than usual. Carnistro had outdone himself in arranging the sumptuous fare. The cypress table was covered by the spread of dishes ranging from carps brought in from Alqualondë to fine venison that Tyelkormo had bagged in the day’s hunt. 

“Telpë!” 

“Artanis!” I laughed as I took my seat beside her. She looked resplendent, arrayed in cream silk and fine jewellery. Seated next to her was Macalaurë, the fingers of his left hand entwined with those of her right. “I had not expected you here. Is Arafinwë accompanying you?”

“I came with my brothers. We are leaving with Indis for Taniquetil tomorrow. Will you come with us? Your father and his brothers are travelling with us. The journey will be a carnival.”

“I wish I could. But I have missed my mother. I will accompany her to the feast. She plans to accompany Grandfather and Finwë. We are setting out only after three days.”

“I had wanted to spend time in your company. I pressed Findaráto to advance our journey from Tirion for the same reason. I was dismayed to find that you were away as an emissary. Did it fare well?”

“I made a new friend, Artanis!” I could hardly wait to begin the tale. “Mairon. He is an excellent craftsman. His thoughts and views are fascinating.”

“You sound enamoured by his skills,” Artanis smiled. “Need I be jealous?”

“Don’t be silly, Artanis!” I laughed. “You will always be my best friend.”

Macalaurë cleared his throat amusedly as Artanis embraced me, her hand accidentally dragging his entwined one around me.

“You seem stretched, cousin,” Findaráto, sitting across me, told Macalaurë.

“Must you emphasise that word?” Macalaurë asked as he retrieved his hand and primly brought it to his lap.

“He said the same thing when Turkáno was making a speech in Tirion.” Findekáno leant forward disapprovingly. “My poor brother could only stare at him, scandalised beyond words. I don’t suppose he will live it down easily. The crowd laughed rather hysterically.”

“That should teach Turkáno not to display his oratorical skills any time soon,” Findaráto sniffed. “He has been a torment to listen to. I can’t wait for Maitimo’s return.”

“Aren’t his speeches equally boring?” Tyelkormo enquired as he entered the chamber and took a seat beside me. Irissë followed him. 

“He is an excellent orator,” Findaráto remarked, leaning back and steepling his fingers to rest his chin upon. “Even my father has not denied that.”

“My son has inherited heavily from me,” Grandfather cut in as he joined us. He came over to my side and pressed a kiss to my forehead before murmuring a few words of greeting. “Telpë, we shall talk tomorrow.”

“If you are referring to your son’s ticklish nature, he has indeed inherited from you,” Findaráto parried.

“I shall never forgive Nolofinwë for sharing such confidential information!” Grandfather growled. His simmering temper did nothing to frighten Findaráto. Artanis would always use the word ‘unruffled’ to describe her brother. 

“It was Lady Nerdanel who revealed your best-kept secret,” Findaráto said with a teasing grin. 

“Women,” Grandfather muttered, shooting a poisonous glare at Artanis. “You will keep your hands off Macalaurë when you are ahorse, Artanis. I don’t savour being on the receiving end of your virtuous father’s admonishments.”

“I can manage my father,” Artanis said confidently. “And I can revert to other methods of touching if you forbid me using my hands on your son.” 

“Hush!” Tyelkormo chided her. “Have you no sense of decorum, Artanis?”

The bickering continued and Grandfather rolled his eyes before taking his seat. Finwë entered and took his place at the head of the table. With a fond smile directed at me, he acknowledged my return. Then he dipped his head and leant to his left, speaking softly with Grandfather, his features set in a frown.

Indis arrived with my mother and took her place to Finwë’s right. She seemed preoccupied, too distracted by her thoughts to even register the continual bickering.

“Shall we begin?” Finwë asked.

Only the chair to Grandfather’s left remained empty. Carnistro muttered something about the food going cold after all the efforts he had put in. Finwë nodded and we began our dinner. Energetic debates ensued along the length and breadth of the table, as my father’s cousins and brothers argued on every conceivable topic. 

“Didn’t Nolofinwë come?” I asked Artanis.

“No.” She fiddled with a goblet of wine. I shot her a warning look. She had never been able to hold her drink well. “Arafinwë and he will go directly to Taniquetil. Turkáno is already in Valmar with Elenwë and his young daughter. I had assumed Maitimo would do the same. But he seems keen on tarrying here.”

“He is not accompanying you?” 

“He said he shall not.” 

Artanis shrugged and her delicate silk gown fell off from its precarious perch on her right shoulder, baring pale skin. Macalaurë tutted and tsked as he set it right again. I noticed that he employed the opportunity to run his fingers tantalisingly along the length of her collar bone.

I chuckled as Findaráto imitated Macalaurë’s actions upon a thoroughly displeased Findekáno.

“You should have brought Amarie,” Findekáno said acidly. “I am in no mood to be stretched.”

“I have been told that I am incredibly good at inducing this mood,” Findaráto purred, his eyes half-lidded and his lips sensually wet with wine.

“Stop that right there,” Grandfather called down the table. “The next innuendo shall see you in the stables, Findaráto.”

“My father won’t be pleased if he hears that you offered me such poor hospitality, uncle. He might feel compelled to appeal to Manwe for exiling you again.”

“Then I shall personally ensure that Arafinwë is drowned. I will not, I repeat, I will not toil over a city administration ever again!” Carnistro huffed.

“You have done well,” Macalaurë offered quietly, raising his goblet to his brother and tilting his head in salute.

“Yes,” Finwë lifted his goblet. “Let us drink to our hero, Carnistro. He has borne the brunt of administration and economy for all these years in exile.”

“To Carnistro!” Irissë leant forward, clinking her goblet against that of my mother’s. 

Carnistro muttered a few words of hurried gratitude as he accepted the toast. Then he hastily set his goblet down and returned to his carp. I laughed as Father teased him about something. Carnistro seemed too flustered by the toast, for he did not even retaliate to the wicked words.

“My apologies for tardiness,” Maitimo said as he walked in and picked off a slice of fruit from Irissë’s plate. With the languid elegance that seemed to unconsciously affect each of his actions, he popped it into his mouth and closed his eyes to savour the taste.

“I hope there was a reasonable reason,” Artanis commented as he assumed his seat between Grandfather and Macalaurë. 

“Quite.” With that, he engaged Finwë in easy conversation. I decided to scowl at him later, feeling quite irked that he had not even noticed my presence. 

“Oromë told me that he would take me to Lórien if I wished,” Tyelkormo was saying.

“To Lórien?” Maitimo frowned and looked up. 

“Irmo will not allow hunting,” Grandfather remarked. “What will you do there? I have never seen you exhibiting the slightest interest in dancing and singing, which I assure you, is all that transpires in Lórien.”

“And dreaming,” Maitimo added disdainfully. 

“Lórien is a place of sanctity. My people have found refuge away from their cares in those gardens,” Indis said, her blue eyes deep with conviction.

“Replacing worries by dreams is not a solution,” Maitimo rejoined quietly. 

Silence fell on the gathered. Finwë leant back and nursed his goblet wearily. Findaráto was grimacing. Beside me, Artanis was fidgeting uneasily.

“You would choose the harsh reality over the lushness of Irmo’s gifts?” Indis queried.

Maitimo did not hesitate as he replied, “Any day. To do otherwise would be cowardice.”

“Then I am a coward, for I treasure my respite in dreams!” Indis rose to her feet, her eyes glowing a passionate azure. 

“That is enough!” Grandfather cut in. “Maitimo, you shall apologise. My lady, please resume your seat. He did not mean his words, I am sure.”

“What do you think of dreams, Father?” Maitimo asked coldly. 

Grandfather carefully rose to his feet and went around the table. Then he poured a goblet of fine wine for Indis and gently coaxed her to her seat. When he looked up at Maitimo, there was only determined sternness. 

Findaráto cleared his throat and made a particularly obscene remark about Carnistro’s thighs. Within moments, there began a full-fledged uproarious argument between my father, his younger brothers and cousins. Grandfather sighed and reassumed his seat. After a few moments, Maitimo rose to his feet and left quietly. 

“I shall make your excuses,” Artanis told Macalaurë.

He nodded and leant in to kiss her chastely upon her cheek before following his brother out of the chamber. 

I soon forgot about the discord as Artanis engaged me in witty conversation. Mother had asked me last year if I fancied Artanis. I had been taken aback. The idea had never occurred to me, for I had always been aware of the bond of kinship. Artanis treated me as a younger brother and I had never regarded our relationship in a different light. 

“You needn’t worry about what happened. Maitimo was trying to be profound, nothing more.” She placed her hand over mine. “Cheer up and let me tell you about Aikanáro’s tryst with my mother’s cousin.”

“Not another incestuous relationship!” I exclaimed wearily.

She giggled and punched my shoulder saying, “Now take that back! I consider myself insulted, considering that I am an ardent partner in one of the said relationships!”

“Far be it from me to even contemplate the meaning of ‘an ardent partner’! He loves you very much, doesn’t he? It shows even when he simply glances at you. I do envy you that.” She flinched as if struck and hastily downed a mouthful of the potent wine. I chuckled. “I fear you are getting drunk, Artanis. Maybe we should retire.”

She did not reply, instead bringing her lips to the goblet again. Her irises were dilated in inebriation though her voice remained unslurred. I gently nudged her shoulder in disapproval. 

“Leave me, Telpë,” she said sharply. 

Knowing well the futility of my attempts should I try to dissuade her, I sighed and left the chamber. 

 

 

I made my way to one of the windows that opened out to the terrace overlooking the gardens. Tyelperion washed its radiance over the cold flagstones and I was reminded of the many times when Mairon and I had walked together in Yavanna’s orchards in the silver light. 

“I will be very glad when the charade is done with,” Maitimo was saying as he paced uneasily to and fro on the terrace. “It is wearing me down.”

“The continuous travel has exhausted you. It is as well that Telpë agreed to travel to Aulë’s lands. That gave you a fortnight’s respite.” 

“I envy you,” Maitimo said dully as he settled in an arbour. “You are always spared.”

“Spared?” Macalaurë’s melodious laughter was more bitter than mirthful. “I would say that I never let our family use me as they use you.”

“Use?” Maitimo spluttered. “You speak harsh words, brother.”

“Then what would you call it? You let Father rule you.”

“Have you ever wanted to please a person so desperately that you might win his respect and matter to him?”

“Yes.” Macalaurë joined his brother under the arbour. “But the person I wished to please is fortunately not Father.”

“I suppose you refer to Artanis. You make it sound so simple.” Maitimo fluidly sank to the flagstones and leant his head against Macalaurë’s knees. A sigh escaped him when Macalaurë’s long fingers came to thread through his hair. “Return to Artanis, brother. I shall be fine.”

A hand wended its way through mine. I squeezed it and pulled its owner closer. The wine had relaxed Artanis’s natural restraint, for she sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. 

“Shall I take you to your chamber?” I murmured.

“I haven’t seen Maitimo so content in a long while. A moment,” she said softly. 

Macalaure was saying, “Artanis told me to come to you. She assured me that she would be fine. Am I to be tossed hither and thither between my brother and cousin?”

“Between your brother and lover.” Maitimo continued hesitantly, “You love her, don’t you?”

“Deeply,” Macalaurë replied in his customary laconic manner. Artanis’s thin frame stiffened beside me. 

“How did you do it?” 

“What?”

“Falling in love? I envied Turkáno so when I saw him with Elenwë and Itarillë in Tirion. Equally do I envy Findaráto and Amarië, Tyelko and Irissë, and Artanis and you.”

“You shall find love when fate wills it.” Macalaurë bent to press a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “Then I shall envy you.”

“I hardly think that will happen. You are in love. Can you be happier than you are?”

Macalaurë replied quietly, “Strive ever higher, as Father would say. Why would anyone be content with their lot?”

“He did not mean that in the matter of love!” Maitimo laughed, the fine creases on his forehead wearing away. “And how would you strive higher to achieve perfect happiness when you already possess it?”

“I cannot strive at all.” Macalaurë nudged his brother and made to rise to his feet. “I plan to retire. Shall you come?”

“In a while. Be seated? I have missed your company so.”

“May I enquire as to the reason for discord between Indis and you?” Macalaurë asked as he resumed his seat and once more applied his fingers to the arduously futile task of coaxing order to his brother’s tangled hair.

“A political issue regarding Father’s return from Exile. I don’t wish to involve you in that, my dearest brother.”

“You think that I shall not understand?” Macalaurë asked coldly. “Even if I loathe politics, I understand the machinations.”

“I have the deepest respect for your intelligence. I merely wish to spare you from all that I can. An elder brother is a protector, so teach the Gods.”

“Very well, Russandol.” Macalaure’s tone reflected deep concern warring with affectionate amusement. “But if need arises, you shall not hesitate to confide in me.”

“You have my word of honour that I shall take you into my confidence if things ever reach that stage.” Maitimo rose to his feet and horizontally slid, so that his head rested on his brother’s lap and his lithe body was sprawled across the arbour seat. “Now let me relate the latest gossip from Valmar.”

Macalaure groaned in mock exasperation before leaning back and listening indulgently to his brother’s scandalous stories of court intrigues. 

With a chaste kiss to my forehead, Artanis turned away, her eyes veiled in thought. I sighed and continued to my bed chamber.

 

“Father,” Carnistro said grimly. “More than tools have the wretch stolen from your forge. I would banish him from the city.”

They were passing judgement on the young apprentice who had stolen a necklace that Grandfather had crafted. Carnistro had caught him red-handed.

“I will manage it,” Grandfather said unconcernedly. “Now make haste. Your cousins and brothers await you.”

“Very well.” Carnistro shrugged and came to embrace me. “Keep an eye on things, will you, Telpë?”

“I shall.” I nodded vigorously. It was something they would tell me long ago when I had been a child who stood alone in the courtyard watching them ride off to hunt.

“Maitimo!” Father called, exasperated. 

Maitimo appeared at the doors of the mansions, his pallor more than customary. Before anyone could remark on it, he came forward and said easily, “I shall come with Father. Go on.”

Macalaurë was riding back now, a perplexed frown marring his visage. 

“Go on, then,” Maitimo said quietly. “I merely seek a day’s quiet before I take to the road again.”

“As you wish,” Grandfather said. 

Carnistro and Macalaurë headed back to join the larger convoy and we waved to them as they rode out of the gates of Formenos.

“Well, Telpë, we still have a thief to judge,” Grandfather murmured as we returned to the unusually quiet halls of the mansion. 

“Why did he do it, Grandfather?” I asked, feeling disturbed. “He is a good craftsman and can become better with time and effort. Why did he do it?”

“Such is the way of life, my dear Telpë. Some create, others watch and yet others steal.”

* * *

“Will you come with me?” Grandfather asked me as we left the forge at the end of the day. He had been most preoccupied and I had not obtained beyond one word answers and noncommittal grunts to my attempts at conversation. 

“When are you leaving, Grandfather?” I asked him. “Mother said that she wishes to stay with Indis. I will remain here if that is so.”

“I am leaving tomorrow,” he said absently, fiddling with the bolt without endeavouring to slide it in. “Findekáno said he shall ride with me.”

“Here, let me.” I slid the bolt in. Father had made it after the young thief had made off with the tools and valuables in the forge. “Maitimo is not coming with you?”

Grandfather shrugged as we made our way to the mansion. “I would rather that I had Findekáno’s company for the journey. A day more of leisurely rest would not go amiss for Maitimo. He can join us in Valmar. He rides fast.”

“Father said that Maitimo often cuts across the plains instead of keeping to the roads.”

“That would be an inherited crime,” Grandfather chuckled. “I preferred crosscuts in my youth, you see.”

I found it hard to imagine him as he might have been in his youth. I could no more imagine my father being young, or my mother being young. Was it the same for everyone? Was it difficult to imagine the youthful forms and doings of people older than one was?

“There you are, Father!” Maitimo briskly came down the stairs into the courtyard. “Everything is arranged for your journey tomorrow. An escort of ten would suffice, I daresay.”

“What need I fear in these lands, my dear Maitimo?” Grandfather threw an exasperated glance at my uncle before continuing with barely concealed paternal pride, “But I know better than to naysay you, I suppose.”

“Would you be implying that I am a better strategist?” Maitimo enquired amusedly, coming over to brush away stray locks of hair from my forehead. 

I swatted his hand and scowled at him. The maid I had been trying to woo, my mother’s aide, was now looking at me and giggling. I needed to come across as debonair and self-sufficient if I were to win my suit. My family’s cosseting of me would not help my wooing. 

“Better strategist?” Grandfather snorted before walking up the steps, dragging us both firmly with him. I was reminded of the day when I had first met Irmo. Grandfather, Maitimo and I had been together, just as we were now, tied by blood and the title of first-born. 

“Would you deny that?” 

“I merely say that you have taken after your mother and your uncle to the extent of having imbibed their wiles and convoluted lines of thought in entirety.” 

Maitimo laughed, not the genteel, refined sound of mirth he saved for boring diplomatic negotiations and dinners, but the rarer musical laugh that only we ever had the pleasure to hear. 

“Why! Wile and convoluted lines of thought are what you seem to be attracted by!”

“You are a rascal,” Grandfather cuffed him gently. “But you are not Macalaurë, which is a relief. Can you imagine him having a twin?”

“There is only one of Artanis.” Maitimo winked. “I wonder if she might have deigned to accept two suits.”

“That coquette!” Grandfather rolled his eyes. “Why Arafinwë thinks Macalaurë seduced her is beyond my comprehension!”

“What a sight!” Findekáno joined us, his merry, dark eyes taking in our progress to the dining chamber. Grandfather was between Maitimo and I. Findekáno looped an arm easily through Maitimo’s and remarked, “Arafinwë calls Aikanáro discreet though the whole of Alqualondë knows that our cousin is an exhibitionist with a penchant for intimacy on the seashore.”

“Now, now, wherever did you hear that from?” Grandfather demanded, with a twinkle in his eyes belying his disapproving tones. “Such slander, my dear nephew.”

“It is no slander.” Findekáno paused for the right amount of time - something I never understood how to effect in conversation - then he continued, “I might have experienced said activity with the said exhibitionist.”

“Is there anyone you are yet to experience?” Maitimo asked sardonically. 

“Dare I mention my fantasy involving turnip fields, diplomats and red hair?” Pat came the repartee. 

“Turnip fields?” Grandfather laughed. I could not help my grin. Maitimo, I observed, merely donned an oft-worn martyred expression. “Inspired, I must grant! And Findekáno, if you dare mention the said fantasy again, I will ensure that you live to regret it.”

“Turnip fields - where Nolofinwë’s one time intimate acquaintance, Laurefindë, claimed for himself that cold advisor of Aulë.”

“Mairon, you mean?” Grandfather asked incredulously. 

It echoed my own surprise. Mairon was all reason and pragmatism. He did not remotely seem a man to be enamoured by carnality. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps the warmest hearts did indeed beat within the coldest forms. 

“Mairon the unattainable, yes.” Findekáno rolled his eyes. “But Laurefindë managed the impossible. Right now, there is besotted inane happiness upon either side. Laurefindë could have done better. Mairon is not stable.”

“Mairon is a good man.” I spoke up for my friend. “He is, in fact, far more stable than the rest of the people I have come to know in Aulë’s lands.”

“Now, Telpë,” Findekáno began in his most patronising tones.

“No, really!” I insisted. “Mairon is an excellent craftsman, Grandfather.”

“Excellent craftsmen make excellent lovers,” Grandfather said absently, already walking away to where my mother and Finwë were standing by a bow window. Findekáno followed him and I was left with Maitimo.

“Tell me, Telpë,” he began in a low, thoughtful voice that had often turned Artanis wary of him. “What was the most remarkable thing that he asked you?” 

I frowned and thought about it. Then I said, unsurely, wondering what purpose it would serve him, “He enquired what measure I would use to gauge people.”

“Perchance he might have remarked in passing how he measures others?” he asked in a tone of little interest that deceived me not at all.

“Mairon is a good man,” I repeated. “He is a craftsman, Maitimo. He has no interest in politics.”

“You have not answered me yet, Telpë.”

I glared at him before giving in and muttering, “Ambition. He measures others by the coin of ambition.”

He clapped me on the shoulder before striding away to join the others for dinner. I stood there a moment, watching him jest and charm others as he invariably did. What coin did he employ to measure others?

“Hearts, he measures them by their hearts.” 

I turned half-about to find Indis staring at Maitimo with such an expression of fear writ across her features that I was moved as I had never been moved before.

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked softly.

“There is a reason why laws exist, Telpë. They equalise us. But in the realm of hearts, we are none equal.”

“Come, milady!” Grandfather hailed her, looking up from his conversation with my mother. “Would you deny me the pleasure of your conversation? Quick now! My son and his cousin are but slaying me with the vulgar subjects they delight in. My father, I find to my horror, defends them against my reprimands. Oh, what a table I keep!”

“One that befits you,” Indis teased him, her eyes lightening in affection. 

 

The next day found Grandfather and Findekáno riding away to Tirion with the escort Maitimo had carefully put together. 

Before they left, Findekáno had come to embrace his cousin. I had become used to this one-sided charade. I had been seeing it from my childhood. Findekáno might be involved with others. But there was only one he returned to profess fealty to. I had often wondered why Maitimo had never brought the matter to a consensus. 

Once, watching him endure Findekáno’s solicitousness with forced gaiety, I had asked Macalaurë what it meant. Macalaurë had been the one I would pose questions to, particularly the uncomfortable questions. To him I had run when my body had grown and changed, when Grandfather had refused to understand my need for privacy and when I had needed helpful hints in wooing. Macalaurë was the bluntest person I knew. He took things as they were, and discussed them as they were, without prevarication and subtlety. So it was natural that I asked him about Maitimo’s reluctance to draw a firm end to his cousin’s advances.

And Macalaurë had said with more than ample sarcasm to last me the day, “Findekáno is knaving himself to Russandol. There is no reason why my brother should take notice of it. It is beneath him to address the issue of this unsubtle fawning.”

Macalaurë had found flaws with each and every woman Maitimo had taken the least measure of interest in. When Grandfather and Finwë had told us about Maitimo’s upcoming betrothal to Ingwë’s granddaughter, Macalaurë had treated us all to a long drawn lecture about the many flaws of Vanyarin women. 

“You are opposed to anyone he displays an interest in,” Grandfather had chided Macalaurë then. 

“He is the finest man I know. He deserves the finest, Father.” Macalaurë had held ground. 

“Even the finest are flawed, Macalaurë, even the finest are flawed.” That had been Grandfather’s quiet reply.

 

At Formenos, Carnistro was in charge of the administrative duties. He had seen me idly sketching bridge designs when I ought to have been learning music. He had taken me to task, of course. But after that, he had put in a word with Grandfather and Father. Father then had taken me on as an apprentice in his architectural work. Grandfather was an excellent architect, but he lacked the interest to design buildings. Father, though, enlisted Finwë’s aid and soon I was being taught architectural principles by Finwë. 

I had just finished yet another of those lessons with Finwë. It had been tiring, but fascinating. My mind awhirl with sketches, plans and calculations, I ventured out. I had been meandering absent-mindedly for a while when I heard raised voices earnestly debating something. One, I immediately placed as Maitimo’s voice. The other I did not recognise. But it was a warm voice, heated even, so heated that I felt sweat break out on my forehead merely by listening to the voice.

“I expect a different answer. In conflict there are no winners, Nelyafinwë. There are only the vanquished and the survivors.”

“You are right, milord,” Maitimo was saying quietly. “But there is yet one more ilk that arises out of conflict.”

“Who may that be?” 

“The martyrs.”

Maitimo’s voice was so clearly sad and determined that I flinched. 

“You stand fast then, Prince?”

Maitimo did not reply. And the voice demanded again, this time flaming with anger. “Answer me! I spare your father because of what you promised.”

“I did discharge my promise to you,” Maitimo said sharply. “Mairon has sworn fealty to Melkor. But this is another matter. I need more time to make my decision.”

“Mairon does not know of your involvement. No! Don’t interrupt, Prince. I know that you have wrought it in such a way that he knows I am to blame. And for this, you shall not do it. If you had wanted to, you could have done it with ease long before this day. Therefore you have no inclination to accept my generous offer.”

“Listen to me! You venture too far, milord,” Maitimo said urgently. “I cannot forfeit Artanis to you. I cannot. But I have something else to parley with; what I am is mine to give.” 

“As deeply as I esteem you, Nelyafinwë,” the voice said with the faintest twinge of amusement, “I am afraid that you are not gold. Now, I must take my leave of you. Farewell, Prince. We may not meet again, unless fate wills it otherwise.”

“Milord!” Maitimo’s exclamation followed by a curse had no reply. 

I rushed through the woods, as fast as I could, until I reached him. He was kneeling upon the muddy alluvial soil beside the pond, his head cast down in wretched despair. I did not speak, for so taken aback was I at his uncharacteristic loss of composure. But I tentatively knelt beside him, and reached up to place my hand on his shoulder. He looked up then and offered me a wan smile.

“Who was it?” I asked hesitantly, seeing the usually clear grey eyes turned murky with emotion.

“Someone who loves gold above all.” Maitimo sighed and rose to his feet, drawing me up with him as he did so.

I was trying to shape my next question in my mind when I heard a bloodcurdling scream from the mansion. Frightened beyond words as the screams continued, I turned to face Maitimo. His grey eyes were wide in horror. 

“Come with me!” he ordered before running towards the house, gathering the folds of his robes about him for ease.

I did not run after him. I stood there by the calm lake, watching the ripple-free water which was at odds with the wave after wave of screaming that emanated from the house. Then there was a rustle in the thicket across the pond and I shivered before turning back and running to the mansion. 

 

The cold light of Tyelperion had washed the flagstones of our dining chamber silver. Pools of blood glistened dark and lustrous upon those stones. 

“Red falls the dew upon these silver leaves.”

Trembling, cold fingers closed over my shoulder and I fell into the embrace Indis guided me to. I did not speak. I sobbed, stricken, harsh, uneven, frightened sobs that left me struggling for air to breathe in. 

“Come!” 

Maitimo rushed into the chamber, accompanied by my mother, whose face he had guided to his shoulder in an attempt to spare her the grotesqueness of death that had happened. 

One of the walls gave away with an almighty crash and Melkor stood before us in armour, his form more frightening than any I had ever seen before. But it was not that which made me gasp. It was the blood on his sword.

“Close your eyes, my child,” Indis whispered to me, and I buried my face in her neck, trembling and fighting to even my breath. 

“Where are they?” Melkor’s voice demanded. “Lead me to them and I shall spare you.”

“Let the women and the lad leave,” Maitimo stipulated, his voice shaking. 

Melkor laughed and I felt a strange energy vibrate in the air. Indis gasped and held me closer. It was followed by Maitimo’s shout of pain, my mother’s scream and then by groans.

“Let me have the Silmarilli and you shall escape my wrath, Nelyafinwë.”

“You must listen to me, Melkor! Irmo has betrayed you!” 

Maitimo must have pushed my mother into the chamber he had just left and shut the door, for I heard her soft cry and the click of the door. Melkor laughed again, and I knew well why. What use were doors in defence against one of the Valar?

“You are wise, Nelyafinwë. But you are not the wisest. Think you that Irmo had been my only ally?” 

I looked up then and saw that Maitimo was supporting himself against the door, his breath coming in unsteady spurts as he reeled under the effect of whatever sorcery Melkor had used. The wave of enchantment intensified and Maitimo threw his head back in pain.

“You do not know,” Melkor said wonderingly. “You truly do not know where your father has secreted them!”

Indis stiffened and I realised why. Praying that Melkor had not noticed her reaction, I cast my gaze upon Maitimo once again. He seemed to have realised the same fact, for he began to speak once again.

“It is folly. You can achieve nothing with the Silmarilli. They contain my father’s soul. They are as untameable and pure as he is.”

“I know how to work the Flame, Prince. You need not worry on account of the jewels remaining unused. Now,” Melkor strode forward and reached Maitimo. He grabbed my uncle by the chin and slammed him against the door murmuring, “You accused me of trespass when I last came here on an errand. I notice that you have been unnaturally receptive this time. Whatever has happened?” Maitimo narrowed his eyes, but remained still in Melkor’s grip, not striving to fight free. 

“I had thought of letting you walk away unharmed.” Melkor dug in his iron glove and Maitimo’s eyes fluttered shut. Indis’s fingers dug into my shoulders. “But you are uncannily adept at destroying my fine plans, Prince. Join your illustrious grandfather. Blood heralded your life, now why shouldn’t herald your end?” 

I was crying then, silently, in horror at what I saw. It had to be unreal. It had to be one of my nightmares.

“No!” Indis called out, as Melkor shifted his vice of a grip to the nape of Maitimo’s neck. “No! Spare him!”

Maitimo struggled then, shaking his head wildly at her, his eyes gleaming in desperation. But Melkor had already scented opportunity. He grabbed Maitimo and flung him face down. Placing a boot on the prostrate form, he looked up at me.

“What have we here?” he murmured. “Fëanáro’s beloved grandson. The heir to his legacy. Come, Telpë. Let us find a way to pass the time.”

Indis had moved forward and I was unshielded from his regard. I shook my head and flattened myself against the wall, my limbs failing utterly. Yet my eyes refused to look away, trapped by his gaze inexorably. He lifted his boot from Maitimo’s spine.

“I have heard your fevered blasphemies often, Nelyafinwë, and I have suffered from your schemes more than I care to admit. Let me amuse myself. How far will your nephew go to save you? Come here, Telpë, unless you want to see more blood. Turn him over. Now!”

I scampered across and knelt by Maitimo’s form. His jaw was clenched in emotion. I did not choose to meet his forbidding glare and did as Melkor had instructed. When I supported his upper body against mine, Melkor was staring at us appraisingly. Then he smiled; a mirthless smile that made my pulse still.

“No!” Maitimo swore, trying to get up. 

Melkor laughed and placed his boot on Maitimo’s chest this time, firmly pressing his torso down into my hold. 

“Have you seen ribs, Telpë?” he asked me in the indulgent tone that he had always used with me.

When I did not reply, he pressed down his boot and Maitimo gave a silent gasp. 

“No!” I answered, feeling an urge to empty my bladder.

“Good.” He nodded sagely. “Then this will be instructional.” 

Then I comprehended his intention and brought my hands to his boot, trying to shove it away. “No, please, milord. Please!”

“Amuse me then, Telpë. You are a resourceful lad.” 

I blinked up at him, my mind benumbed by fear to think of anything coherent.

“Telpë, do nothing,” Maitimo breathed and one of his shaking hands came to squeeze my arm. “You shall be fine. Don’t fear him.”

“Shall I crush him?” Melkor asked me politely. “I am being patient only because it is you. You see, I am fond of you.”

“What should I do?” I begged then, my tears falling fast and hot upon Maitimo’s face. I could hear Indis sobbing, and my mother crying out from the other chamber. “What must I do? Don’t hurt him, please.”

“I shall not hurt him, Telpë. Instead, you shall.”

“Telpë!” Maitimo was trying to squirm free. 

Then Melkor met my gaze again and a dark array of thoughts was placed in my mind. I stared at him in horror, and nearly retched as I realised what he wanted me to do. He dug in the heel of his boot and Maitimo writhed in agony. 

“You are untouched, are you not?” Melkor breathed. “I can see it in your eyes, Nelyafinwë.”

 

“There are only two kinds of people, Telpë,” Father had once told me. “Those who act and those who hesitate. Better to act and know how it ends instead of hesitating and throwing away what chance we had, wouldn’t you say?”

 

I brought my lips to Maitimo’s and Indis screamed something. It was not my innocence that I lost then. It was not my respect for him that I lost then. It was something deeper. I lost my belief in the Gods. They were everything that Maitimo had said they were. To have brought us to this low plight, to revel in our torment - those who believed in them were fools.

Melkor had eased the pressure of his boot. When I withdrew, Maitimo did not flinch or rail angrily at me. Instead, all that there was in those eyes was plain fear. My fingers trembled baldly when I brought them to the ties of his robes. But I willed myself to go on. I had to. The thought of Melkor crushing his spine, the thought of his blood on me - I could not bide them.

But when I caught the first glimpse of the bare skin of his chest, I faltered. Only Melkor’s cold laugh helped me prevail. 

“Please, no!” Indis had rushed across, and was now kneeling at Melkor’s feet, grabbing the hem of his cloak. “Please, Lord!” 

Her cries brought awareness to Maitimo’s eyes and he shrank from me, fear dancing wild in his eyes. I swallowed, but could do nothing else. 

“Then you had best lead me to the Silmarilli,” Melkor advised her. “You know where they are. You are Fëanáro’s secret keeper. Unless you wish the Prince to be taken on his fours by someone he calls nephew.” 

Maitimo shuddered, but spoke firmly, “Indis, no. Nothing matches the worth the Silmarilli. And you cannot trust him.”

“Trust is not a factor that enters the discussion. Choice is.” Melkor regarded him steadily. “I would love to see you shamed, broken and sobbing at my feet. For the Silmarilli, I shall spare you. It is a fair bargain.”

“There is no shame in what is imposed upon my helpless person. You can never break what I am. If I cry, the tears are mine to shed, not yours to command. I shall not allow the bargain.”

“You are Míriel Serindë’s grandson. Brave. But it will not suffice, Prince. Indis,” Melkor turned to face her. “It is your choice.” Then he nodded at me, his boot once again pressing down. 

A part of me died there. Indis had run out of the chamber, but I did not notice Melkor’s exclamation. I was drowning in the blackness, in the involuntary grunts and gasps of pain that escaped proud lips, and I was lost in the evil that I was perpetrating upon someone I loved and respected. 

Then Indis returned. She flung the Silmarilli at Melkor’s feet. The blackness lifted from my soul and we were three broken souls in the chamber where Finwë’s blood had yet not dried. I buried my face in Maitimo’s shoulder, too shattered to even find relief in tears. He murmured barely audible words meant to soothe and somehow pried me off his back. Then he rose, wincing as he did so, and turned to view what remained. 

But there was only darkness. Where was the light of Tyelperion?

“You were right,” Indis broke the silence finally. “They have ruined us.”

Then Varda’s stars shone down. Maitimo’s eyes sparkled with resolution once again and the sight of that made me slump in relief. There was no shame in those silver eyes, there was only the wisdom that comes with grief. The imprint of Melkor’s boot remained upon his heaving chest.

He brushed his hair away from his face, wiped his bloodied lips with a sleeve, and said quietly, “I haven’t the slightest idea of what to do, Indis. Manwë will not help us. Father shall want revenge.” He nodded at Finwë’s charred body.

Sighing, he walked over to where his robes lay and slipped them on. He continued speaking after a while, when I had done nothing but stare at the blood under my fingernails - his blood, I realised in horror. 

“Telpë shall take his mother and you to Tirion. I will ride to Valmar and inform the Valar. Let us see if anything can be salvaged.”

His eyes flickered to me as he spoke that and I opened my mouth to blurt an incoherent sentence. But he resumed speaking.

“Telpë, I would be exceedingly grateful if you were to forget that this happened. You are too young to worry about these matters. Now, find some horses. The fiend spooked them all away, I fear. Whistle for them, take what you need and ride hard to Tirion. Take care of Indis and your mother, will you? Keep to the more frequented roads. And don’t tell anyone of what transpired here. Come now, the stars shine. Ride fast and keep safe.”

I nodded mutely. He gave me one of his rare, genuine smiles and bent to clap my shoulder before chivvying me up and then helping Indis rise. I watched as they embraced, with Indis running her fingers through his hair and the blanching of her features when her fingers felt the wet warmth of blood at the nape of his neck.

“I shall be fine,” he whispered, though his eyes were lustrous and haunted. “Now, away. I must ride to Valmar as fast as I can.”

“Can you-?” I bit off the rest of my question.

He paled, but managed to reply in a tone nearly approaching his usual composure. “I have never been in such a situation. But I daresay need overcomes pain.”

 

Obeying Maitimo’s instructions, we rode out. As we passed the gates of Formenos, Indis turned back once to look upon the starlit statue of the woman whose legacy haunted us.

“Will you take them all from me, Míriel?” Indis whispered.

Then she brought a trembling hand to lower the black veil of widowhood over her fair features.

My mother grasped her hand and with a nod, Indis turned away. The eyes of the world were never to be graced again by her beauty. 

I refused to think. Fire burned in my veins, in my blood, in my eyes, everywhere. Even as I strove to suppress memories, they flashed back venomously, planting in my mind those vivid images of desecration. It had not been the blood, or the sweat or, the writhing body that had broken me. It had been the primal cries that had supplanted his aristocratic drawl. 

“You rotten numbskull!”

Indis halted her mount and my mother and I did the same. A golden head was bouncing up and down furiously as the owner of the said head violently made gestures to drive in his argument. Facing him was the hapless victim of his insults, someone I instantly recognised despite the darkness.

“Calling me names shall not help, Laurefindë. You mean nothing to me. I am leaving. That is all.”

“Can’t you see what is in your heart?” 

Laurefindë grabbed his companion by the shoulders and shook him roughly. He kissed him then, furiously, withholding and sparing nothing. A broken gasp issued from the other man, who shoved him away with a force that was not given to our kind. Laurefindë fell down upon his back and began shouting again. But his companion disappeared even as Laurefindë ended his tirade with those words that I would always associate with him.

“I regret nothing!”

Then he promptly dissolved into tears and curses screaming, “Come back, you coward!”

“Laurefindë, is it not?” Indis dismounted and went to kneel by him. 

“Queen Indis!” He tried to wipe off his tears, but utterly failed. “Did you see our argument?” he asked forlornly. 

“Come with us,” Indis nudged him. “We are riding to Tirion.”

“Where is your escort?” Laurefindë peered around her and saw us, and curiosity stilled his misery. “Why are you riding alone? The Princes would never let the soldiers hear the end of it.”

“Be our escort then,” Indis said calmly, without revealing the least of the horror that we had been through.

“To Tirion? Let me take you to Valmar. Tirion is deserted. There is no light. We must take the roads we know the best.” Laurefindë rose to his feet and dusted himself off. The pain remained raw in his eyes. But he recouped and put on a civil face. 

“To Valmar then.”

 

Our lore masters later spoke reverentially of how brave Maitimo had been to defy Melkor in Formenos. They did not know the least part of his courage. I did not dare allow myself to think of the pain he must have been in, riding across the country, bareback and probably bleeding. 

He had reached Valmar before us. Rebellion flared in the city and we were swept away by the madness that consumed the Noldor. As the mob drove us all apart, I tried to keep my mother in sight. She was trying to join me, but the insanity that gripped those who followed the High-Princes drove us further and further away.

Then we were at Alqualondë and tears ran down my face as I tried to find my mother. Telerin shipmen bearing torches and swords chased us. Father had promised to craft me a sword. But it had never been a priority. What need had we for swords in Valinor?

“Telpë!”

My mother. She drew me behind her instinctively shielding me from the madness of the mob. The shipmen cursed us and their dark blades gleamed in the starlight. 

“Kinslayers!” 

It was the first time that I had heard the word. I did not know the meaning then. But it unsettled me all the same.

“No!” 

My mother screamed and she flung out her arms to protect me. I shouted and it was lost in the chaos. And I lost my mother.

I grabbed her writhing, panicking form and bore her down with me to the ground. I held her as she tried to pull out the long knife that had struck her in the chest. Blood dribbled down her lips. 

Then I heard the clang of swords and my father’s shouts. But I remained where I was, trying to hold her still. She brought her trembling, bloodied fingers to my cheeks and offered a ghastly smile that remained carved on her lips even after her soul had fled away for eternity.

“Telpë!” My father pulled me up and dragged me away. I tried to speak, but I was trembling and I could not tear my gaze away from her limp form that we had turned our backs on. 

“We have no time,” Father said quietly and his voice was so broken that I knew he would never be the same again. 

“Atarinkë!” 

It was Maitimo. I shuddered at the sight of him covered in blood and bruises. He was trying to comfort Findaráto who had vomited all over him. The stench of blood, ale and putrid vomit made me nearly faint but for the painful grip my father had upon my forearm. I waited for Maitimo to ask about my mother. But he did not. Instead, with an understanding nod, he spoke.

“Find Carnistro, brother, and then join Father. Leave Telpë with me. I am yet to find Mother. Someone said that she has come.”

Father did not reply, instead shoving me towards Maitimo and then walking away briskly. 

“I have to find my brothers,” Findaráto muttered as he wiped his mouth on Maitimo’s robes absently. 

“You owe me a new set of robes, cousin,” Maitimo remarked.

“I killed the royal tailor of Alqualondë,” Findaráto said darkly. “You shall have to wait.”

It was things like these that I liked about Maitimo. He knew the right thing to say whatever the situation was. After Findaráto had left, Maitimo beckoned me over. I thought of all those people - Finwë, Indis, poor Grandfather who had lost the Silmarilli, Mairon, Laurefindë, my mother. I thought of the blood that had dried under my nails. Memories of a voice stripped of all refinement by fear.

“Telpë,” he said quietly.

I could not cry anymore. My eyes were raw after all the tears I had shed that day. What would I do now? Crying helped one forget. What did one do when one ran out of tears?

“You are a very brave child.” He placed his hand under my chin and made me meet his calm gaze. “You did what you had to.”

There were yet tears left, I found out then. I fell apart for the umpteenth time that day as he drew me to him, soothing me with soft words and steady strokes down my spine. My eyes burnt as if they were bleeding. My voice was broken. But I asked finally what had been preying on my heart ever since Melkor had vanished.

“Will you fade, Maitimo?”

He wrenched free my right hand from its hold upon his shoulder and drew it into the folds of his robes. I felt the blessedly strong thud of his heart beneath the bare, heated skin. He would not fade. 

Sighing, I took my hand away and looked up into his calm grey eyes.

“I am sorry,” I said wretchedly, and realised why those words were never enough when it mattered.

“While I have not the least intention of undergoing such discomfort again, I don’t blame you in the slightest. You acted with great presence of mind.” He smiled down at me; that genuine smile he reserved for moments of significance. Then he said quietly, “It stays between us, Telpë. I cannot have Findekáno or anyone else knowing this.”

I nodded. I knew that it was something that I could not confide to anyone at all, however close they were to me. 

“Are you hurt badly?” I whispered and my hands were trembling as I looked at the blood under my fingernails.

“You need not worry, Telpë. There is no lasting harm. We have all seen enough blood this day. Let us not talk more of it.”

I nodded again, knowing from his evasive words that the pain had not been easy to bear. 

“Now that we have resolved the matter,” he began walking me towards the docks where the ships waited, “let us find the others and see what can be done. Whatever is she doing?”

“Artanis!” 

I called out as I saw her standing listlessly amidst corpses. She jerked at the sound of her name and I could see that her palms were bleeding. Blood again, I shivered. 

“Macalaurë!” Maitimo waved at his brother. “Get Artanis. We must make for the ships.”

I watched as Macalaurë picked his way through the lifeless bodies and reached her side. His words of concern and enquiry had no reply though. He threw Maitimo a helpless glance before undoing his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. After he had led her away, Maitimo made his way to where she had been standing. I did not want to follow him. But I loathed being alone right then. So I hurried after him.

He was sitting on his haunches and turning up the faces of the corpses. I retched, the stench of brine and blood overpowering me.

“Olwë.”

His fingers passed over the mangled ruins of what had once been a face. I did not understand how he had recognised the corpse. A fog was settling over the harbour.

“Please, Maitimo, let us leave,” I whispered, grabbing his shoulder. 

 

“There are not enough ships to take us all,” Turkáno stated flatly and added an accusatory glare at Tyelko for good measure.

“What makes you think that it is my fault?” Tyelko flared.

“It is your father’s fault!” Arafinwë struck his fist upon the railing of the deck.

“That is enough!” Nolofinwë broke in. He looked gaunt and wretched. But I had never seen him more determined than he was then. 

“We must divide,” Artanis said simply. “Half of the host can go first. Let the ships return and the other half can go.”

“Where is he?” Arafinwë asked Findekáno, who had been standing silently beside his father.

“Father is not well.” Macalaurë stepped in. “Artanis is right. We must divide.”

“How do you propose that we accomplish this division?” Arafinwë sneered. “I don’t trust you to take the ships.”

“Then take them,” Macalaurë said simply. “We shall wait.”

“If I sail to those hells in the east and if you return to Valinor-” 

“Arafinwë,” Findekáno interjected, “you cannot have it either way. Take the ships or wait for them.”

“My brother remains with me,” Arafinwë stipulated. “Then I shall wait for the ships.” 

“Nolofinwë must go with Father,” Maitimo argued. “And Telpë and the women shall wait until the ships return. I will not allow them to be in danger. Who knows what awaits us there?”

“I shall have no part in this!” Arafinwë retorted. “My brother stays with me. Or is your father so depraved that he needs my brother’s carnal expertise at a time like this?”

“Father!” Findaráto exclaimed even as Macalaurë and Findekáno attempted to hush an outraged Tyelko. “Please, let us have a consensus.”

“I shall stay with you, Arafinwë,” Maitimo offered. “Let Nolofinwë go with Father.”

Arafinwë frowned, but seemed to find the idea palatable. But before he could reply, determined words rang out in the silence.

“My son comes with me.” 

Grandfather joined us, looking a ghost of the man I had known. “I will not deny you your brother, Arafinwë.”

“Fëanáro,” Nolofinwë began soothingly, placing a hand on Grandfather’s shoulder. “Maitimo can stay behind and I could come with-”

“My son comes with me.”

“Nolofinwë’s suggestion is not without merit, Father,” Maitimo tried persuasion. 

“You are my son, not your uncle’s son.”

The dark edge in Grandfather’s voice silenced both Maitimo and Nolofinwë. They were closer than most fathers and sons. Indeed, it was one of those unvoiced facts of my family that Maitimo respected Nolofinwë more than he respected Grandfather and that Nolofinwë loved my uncle more than he loved his children.

“Take the ships then,” Arafinwë said coldly. 

 

And then as we prepared to set sail from Araman, we heard a loud voice, solemn and terrible, that bade us stand and give ear. Then all halted and stood still, and from end to end of the hosts of the Noldor the voice was heard speaking.

“Tears unnumbered you shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Finwë the wrath of the Valar lies from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be forever. You have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood you shall render blood, and beyond Aman you shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain you may be, and slain you shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall you abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom you have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.”

Many quailed; but Artanis clenched her jaw and forcefully tugged at the ropes that flung out the white sails woven by the Telerin women. Even as the headsails billowed in the cold northern wind, Maitimo smiled at her in gratitude and then gripped Grandfather’s wrist reassuringly. 

And Grandfather spoke.

“We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and to this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda!”

“Forward, O Noldor!” Nolofinwë shouted, grasping Grandfather’s hand and lifting it high. “Lead you we shall, to glory and freedom! Who shall follow us?”

There was dissension in the host among Arafinwë’s followers. Findekáno muttered that this was what happened when one married into Vanyarin blood. But I saw Artanis, standing proud, strong and brave by the ropes. I knew I would never have her courage.

Maitimo moved past Artanis and flung himself up onto the rails, balancing his form most precariously by grabbing the sail ropes with his left hand while he lifted his sword aloft with his right hand. His soiled robes detracted not the least measure from his aristocratic grace. His hair flew east, even as the folds of his robes and the sails against which he was outlined blew in the same direction. When he looked down at us all, his gaze shone with that brilliance which had been always been remarked upon. 

He waved his right hand and the sword forged by Grandfather caught the starlight. He was a living statue; a statue of pride, fearlessness, sacrifice and determination, a statue sculpted from his father’s fire and his mother’s wisdom, a statue with quicksilver eyes that were the legacy of the only woman whom Finwë had loved, a statue that could never be broken however it was sullied.

“There shall be suffering. But you have the word of Nelyafinwë that he will suffer equally and more than you must. There shall be blood. But you have my word that I will shed the last drop of my blood before you have to shed yours. There shall be death. But you have my word that as long as my sword arm prevails, not one of you shall be claimed by Námo. I promise you blood, I promise you death, I promise you tears. But so do I promise glory, freedom and victory! Of us, lore shall say: they lived!” 

“It is not light that we need, my valiant people! It is not light that we need, but fire. It is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind and the earthquake! Only as we bleed do we rise! And I promise you we shall rise! To the East, O Noldor, to the East!”

* * *

“What has he done?” Nolofinwë murmured, his brows drooping as he watched the flames in the east. “Whatever has he done?”

“This is not even a precursor of what shall be our lot if we follow him, brother!” Arafinwë said angrily. “Turn back with me now. The Valar are callous. But they are not mad. I, for one, would rather follow a cruel master than a mad one.”

“We cannot abandon them!” Nolofinwë waved his hand at the fire. “Our nephews, our people, they need us now more than ever. Their father cannot guide them. Will you forsake our blood?”

“My wife has forsaken me. Yes, I can forsake mad seed of a mad father. You cannot follow him into fate’s jaws. Will you sacrifice all our lives for a mad lover?”

“Arafinwë!” Nolofinwë’s eyes went wide in horror. “He is our brother!”

“A bond he never cared to acknowledge,” Arafinwë said darkly. “He would deny us the right to Father’s legacy.”

“He has never sought to come between our parents.” Nolofinwë shook his head in vexation. “You cannot interpret his lack of social instincts as deliberate denial. As for the rest, you know as well as I do that Moringotto created discord.”

Arafinwë leant forward and gripped his brother’s shoulders, saying furiously, “He is leading us into madness, brother! I wash my hands of it. And you-”

“I shall go on. Even the Helcaraxë can be conquered by courage.” Arafinwë made to speak, but his brother continued hurriedly, “Speak to my people. If any shall follow you to Aman, lead them back.”

Nolofinwë pulled his brother into a rough embrace and then hastily let go before turning and striding away. Arafinwë cursed as he watched the slumped, yet determined form of Nolofinwë vanishing into the throng. Then he drew himself into composure and summoned his sons.

“I am sorry that you had to witness this.” Artanis joined me and pulled me into a loose hug. 

“Grandfather should not have burnt the ships,” I said in a small voice.

Was it so very long ago that I had felt nobody in my family could do wrong? It seemed as if we could do nothing right now.

Artanis kissed my cheek and withdrew. “He had to burn the ships. He does not want Nolofinwë to enter fate’s jaws, as my father dramatically put it.”

I blinked at her and said quietly, “But Nolofinwë is going to lead us east though he knows Grandfather does not want him to come. Why?”

“Who fathoms love?” 

There was such deep acridity of bitterness lingering in her words and in her gaze that I could not doubt she loved. 

“Macalaurë shall be fine,” I offered quietly. “He always is.”

Artanis trembled then. Her words were harsh as she spoke. 

“He shall live who is consecrated by the love of a thrall.” 

“Artanis?” I queried anxiously, mopping away the sweat that had broken on her forehead. “Artanis?”

“It has passed,” she mumbled wearily. 

Offering me a bright smile and a solicitous pat on the shoulder, she walked over to her father. Raised voices. I flinched. Artanis and her father had never disagreed on anything. If they were at discord, then what further proof was needed to tell us that it would never be the same again?

Arafinwë turned back. Under Nolofinwë’s leadership, we trudged on.

 

Lore did not document in entirety what was endured on the Ice. More than the cold, more than the fear that we would not survive, what pervaded the air was the grim truth that a people bereft of hope were people bereft of humanity. Nolofinwë tried in vain to set a watch about the women at nights. But the bitter cold and the many losses endured had made beasts of men. They needed warmth; they needed flesh and blood to be assured of life. 

It was not only the women who were threatened. Even those young lads as me were often subjected to the brunt of the men’s need for physical comfort. Findekáno had taken to keeping an eye on me and I was spared the worst of it. 

Findekáno, Elenwë and Artanis. If not for them, we would have perished in despair. 

Elenwë had taken me under her wing when the journey began. Itarillë and I would be fussed over and reprimanded as the occasion warranted. Elenwë was like a marigold. She was so infectiously lively that we forgot our troubles when she walked with us. She sang, she joked and she nagged everyone around to eat and keep up their spirits. Nolofinwë relied upon her more and more with each passing day as the gloom upon us grew. 

“You must eat something, Turkáno!” she was urging her husband after we had halted for the day. 

I was lying beside Itarillë, sharing the hoarded warmth of the few cloaks Elenwë had scrounged for us. My cousin was already lost to dreams and her steady breath tickled the nape of my neck. 

“Give it to the children later,” he said dully. “I can do without.”

He was the most hen-pecked husband I knew. But he was very, very happy with his lot. In fact, going by the besotted looks he would bestow upon Elenwë now and then, one could not but know that he would build a shrine for her if she permitted it. 

“What happened?”

“Father says again that he has seen land. He is hallucinating. I have left Findaráto to manage him.”

“The lack of food and rest can do that to a man. It brings us back to the subject of eating.”

“Very well, since you order me I shall eat. How are the children faring? Findekáno said that Telpë seems to be withdrawn. I haven’t had the chance to speak at length with the lad yet.” 

The constant toil, the dangerous road, the near famine – all had conspired to allow me a reprieve from reflections. I could not bear to think of my mother, or of Grandfather, or of my father, or of what I had done in Formenos.

“Artanis would have noticed if something was amiss with Telpë,” Elenwë was assuring Turkáno. 

“Artanis is coldblooded,” Turkáno scoffed. 

“No more than you are.” I knew that Elenwë was smiling at him. “She merely need ensure that she marries someone warm blooded. Such unions result in spectacular bliss.”

Turkáno laughed before remarking, “Macalaurë is not warm blooded, not unless it concerns his brother. Nor am I, unless it concerns you.”

“My dearest Turkáno!” she laughed and then screamed, and the ice gave away underneath us. 

Itarillë’s sleeping form fell away from me. The coldness swallowed me, petrifying me of all senses.

“Telpë!” Hands pressing down on my stomach so that I spluttered and gasped. Hands slapping my face startling my eyes open. Hands digging into my shoulders commanding me to wake.

“He shall live.” I had never heard Artanis sound so relieved. I gazed into her wild blue eyes uncomprehendingly. 

“He should not be alive.” A low voice filled with venom and pain broke in. 

“Itarillë, child.” It was Nolofinwë. “Come with me now.”

“He is alive because my mother is dead.”

I grasped the fingers digging into my shoulder. Findaráto’s fingers, it turned out. He helped me sit up, though he made no attempt to venture conversation. It frightened me more than anything else. Findaráto had always something to say.

I turned to face Artanis. For once, her eyes were lustrous and when she spoke, her voice lacked its characteristic unshakeable courage. But she was blunt; one could always trust her to be blunt.

“Elenwë is dead.”

I stared at her, numbed. She nodded and continued. 

“Turkáno saved Itarillë. He saved you. But you were heavy. He could not find strength enough to save Elenwë. Help arrived late.”

“Why-”

“Elenwë asked – no - commanded him to save you,” Artanis broke off looking quite miserable. “You had best take off those clothes unless you are keen on freezing to death. I have asked Irissë to find you dry clothing. Brother,” she turned to face Findaráto, “the ice is thin. We spread our host evenly so that this does not happen again.”

He nodded and left us. Artanis directed me to Irissë who had miraculously managed to find dry clothes.

Then Nolofinwë passed me and clutching his hand was Itarillë, bundled in her mother’s cloak. She narrowed her eyes and spoke softly those words that coloured my dreams ever after.

“You should not be alive.”

 

“Wine!” Artanis called out briskly. 

“Must it be wine-” Findekáno began dubiously, but let his words drop when Artanis looked up to glare at him. 

The men were not pleased when the last of the wine flagons were brought to Artanis. She did not even look repentant as she dipped the blood stained cloth into it. Then she turned to the labouring woman.

“I fear,” the woman’s husband murmured over the piteous screams. 

“You should have thought about it before sharing passion,” Artanis said sharply. “Nolofinwë, you must ask the men to temper their lust. The women are frail and deprived of nutrition and rest. The chances of mother and child surviving birth are not heartening. The newborn children cannot be nourished in this weather.”

“What do you need, Artanis?” Findaráto squatted down by her side. “Catgut? There is no more wine. But will something else serve as disinfectant?”

Artanis placed her hands on the woman’s full belly and closed her eyes. She frowned, and then told the husband bleakly, “You must make a choice, my good man. I cannot save them both.”

“Artanis!” Findekáno chided her. “Such a choice cannot be made!”

“Then they shall both die.” Artanis met the frightened husband’s eyes squarely. “Life poses choices. We choose and make the best of what we have.”

“Choice is an illusion. It does not exist.” I shuddered as I heard Turkáno’s weary tone speaking those words. He must have regretted saving me. 

“Save my daughter, Princess!” the woman whispered brokenly. “Save her.”

“My dear!” The husband fell to his knees and clasped her chin. “No child unborn is worth your life!”

“But a child born is worth everything.” She closed her eyes. “Please.”

“Stand back. More space. Let her have air to breathe. Bring a bucket of water.” Artanis issued instructions in her crispest tones. “Find a horsehide. Telpë, hold her arms. Irissë, hold the lantern, if you please.”

It was the cruellest, most painful thing I had ever seen. Artanis continued her litany of encouragement and reprimands. The woman screamed and writhed in my hold. The stricken husband was being held by Findaráto. The woman had no strength to push. Agony ripped her as the labour progressed slowly. Artanis cursed. She had learnt the fine art of cursing from Macalaurë. She cursed again.

“Findaráto, your knife.” 

Nolofinwë knelt down beside us and began singing softly, stroking the sweating forehead of the woman. Artanis procured the knife, rinsed it with wine, and then proceeded to cut the woman open with an eerie precision that turned my stomach. 

Nolofinwë’s singing did not muffle the torn screams. There was blood everywhere and then Artanis extracted a writhing mass of steak-like flesh. The woman stilled in my arms, her last breath a susurration of gratitude to Artanis. Nolofinwë’s song became a soft lament. The husband fell to his knees and buried his face in the limp brown hair of the corpse. 

And Artanis cut off the umbilical cord that tied the child to the dead mother. She tore off a fold of the woman’s skirt, dipped it in the wine, and then cleaned the child’s skin from the blood and soil. 

“It is not breathing,” Irissë whispered.

Artanis upturned the small form and struck it squarely in the back. Findekáno hissed. But the child began wailing. The husband was entrenched in his grief. So Nolofinwë took the infant and kissed its forehead.

“A red flower that bloomed on this forsaken ice: Carnilótë.”

 

“He says that he can smell mud,” Turkáno murmured. “I asked Findekáno not to tell anyone. I fear that he is going mad, Artanis.”

“He is not mad,” Artanis replied calmly. “None of us are mad.”

“None of us are mad yet, you mean?” asked one of the men who had been trudged alongside us. 

The host had dwindled. Death. Deserters who had turned back, fleeing for Valinor. Many were dying on their feet. Now more than ever, we felt the stark absence of Maitimo. Men hearkened to him. 

“This shall not do,” Artanis declared as the men and the women began whispering amongst themselves spreading the fear.

“We cannot give them false confidence, cousin,” Turkáno warned her. 

Artanis threw him a disdainful look before calling for a steed. Our mounts had mostly all perished in the weather. Only those that had been gifted by Aulë to the Princes during the last harvest were left. Now one of them was led to her. She gripped my shoulder and I helped her mount the stallion. 

A cold gale blew from the west and the spirits of our people were dampened further. But Artanis remained upon the horse, upright and proud, her blue eyes blazing colder than the ice of Helcaraxë and her golden hair scorning all attempts by the hail to dull its richness.

The host gathered around her. There were faces weary and resigned. There were faces angry and pitying. There were faces awaiting death. 

“The fairest spoils wait at the end of the hardest roads!” she cried. “When we said farewell to bondage we said farewell also to ease! Will you be cowards now that we are free? For we are free, my dear people, we are free! Despair not! Would you give in to cold winds when you did not give in to sword and law? Shame on you! This shall pass, I swear. We shall stand together upon the shores of the new land. We shall conquer and call them our own! Never again will we bow to unworthy masters! Never again!” 

She was not as charismatic and eloquent as Maitimo. She did not have Grandfather’s brilliance. But she was Artanis. And we believed her because Artanis never lied. 

She was right. Nolofinwë had indeed seen the shoreline. Two days later, we stared at the water lapping on the sands before falling to our knees in relief. Findekáno whooped and tossed young Itarillë into the air before catching her again. Nolofinwë sighed and embraced Findaráto. Irissë was trying to cheer up Turkáno, who was staring at the road we had taken. Helcaraxë would not leave a sweet memory for any of us. 

“You shall soon be reunited with your father,” Artanis murmured as I joined her. Her eyes were dark and I knew she was thinking of Arafinwë.

“He might follow us,” I offered. 

“Only fools and madmen would brave the Helcaraxë. My father is neither foolish nor mad.” 

“We-” I began earnestly. But she cut me off with a bark of laughter.

“We are mad, Telpë. All of us.” She inhaled. “We have made our choice. Let us make the best of it.”

“You are the only reason why courage did not fail two days ago,” I whispered. 

“I did not believe a word of what I said.” She shrugged. “Sometimes, Telpë, a lie can help.”

“You never lie,” I said, shocked that she would admit to doing so. “All of us believed every word of yours that day.”

“Courage was restored. Nolofinwë and Findekáno led us with renewed confidence. Now we have conquered the Helcaraxë. I think I may be forgiven for my deception.” She smiled and embraced me. “Come now, Telpë, you need not look so aghast. I promise never to lie to you, would that suffice?”

“It is paltry reassurance.” I buried my face in her hair. 

“It is more than what you shall ever have from Maitimo,” she remarked.

“Grandfather says that diplomacy is an excuse to hide the truth.”

“It certainly would explain why Maitimo finds it interesting,” she said. “Now, am I forgiven by my favourite nephew?”

“I love you, Artanis.” I kissed her cheek and withdrew. “Will you step onto the new land with me?”

“I have no one else,” she said simply, before taking my hand. 

“We shall always have each other, I feel,” I said quietly.

“You and I are going to last, Telpë.” She kissed my cheek once before casting her gaze to the lands that we would call home.

 

“Telpë!”

My father’s embrace choked the breath out of me. But I laughed weakly and surrendered. Tears demanded their release though I tried my best to be the man I would grow up into. It was unseemly for a man to cry.

Then, to my horror, my father broke down into bitter sobs as he held me closer still. If he could vent grief so then it could not be unseemly for a man to cry. I cried then, I cried for Mother, for Finwë, for Elenwë and for the poor woman who had delivered her child with her last breath. 

“Your grandfather is dead, my boy,” Father said hoarsely. 

A part of me had known, I think, even before we had begun our journey. Irmo had spared him only because of whatever Maitimo had sacrificed. Artanis survived, Irmo had withdrawn his protection and Melkor’s madness had consumed Grandfather. I wondered if Maitimo regretted his actions as Turkáno did.

“Maitimo is lost to us.” Father continued in a hurried, fevered tone. “Macalaurë leads us now. Bless Nolofinwë for coming.”

“What happened to Maitimo?” I asked fearfully. Even when imparting tidings of Grandfather’s death, Father’s voice had not sounded so strange.

“You must not ask. You must not ask.” He embraced me once again before whispering, “So young. How shall you ever forgive me for what I have stolen from you?”

My mother. My youth. My innocence. My home. I remembered Artanis. Choices and making the best of them. 

“You shall always have my allegiance, Father.” 

He gripped my shoulders and shook me hard before commanding me, “Never speak of allegiances again, do you hear me?” He calmed himself with effort and continued, “You are to be your own person. Never follow your loved ones into folly. Be what you need to be, not what you are expected to be.”

I stared at him in astonished fear. He had never allowed me choices before in my life. Now he was asking me to take the reins.

“Promise me that love and kinship shall not buy your loyalty,” Father demanded, his eyes glittering in anger.

I whispered, “I shall try my best.”

 

I had been carving a flute for Macalaurë. He was in strange spirits. We had not spoken more than polite greetings after my arrival. I knew it had to do with Maitimo’s fate. I was forbidden to ask anyone about that.

Macalaurë would often come to the little clearing to watch me at work. But he never imposed upon my activities and Father had warned me to remain silent in Macalaurë’s presence. 

“Telpë-”, it was Artanis.

She paused uncertainly when she saw Macalaurë. For his part, he was still gazing east with the absolute concentration of a madman. Artanis cast a wary glance at me before moving to stand in his line of sight.

“Macalaurë?”

He stilled his thoughts and met her gaze calmly. But there was nothing of the seductive light that had once shone in his eyes when they looked upon her. Had we all lost parts of us in this madness?

“You must not,” he said quietly. “For your sake.”

“For once, let it be for your sake.”

So saying, she closed the distance between them. He cast the eastern skies one long look before nodding and offering his hand to her. They walked deeper into the woods and I remained alone, the unfinished flute limp in my hands as my mind churned conjectures and wild fears about Maitimo’s fate.

 

One morning ended all my speculations on Maitimo’s plight. They bore him into the mansion and took great care to keep me away from the vicinity. Nolofinwë was heard singing his soft laments at nights. Macalaurë grew gaunter and gaunter with each passing day. Findaráto and Turkáno excused themselves during the mornings to sit with Maitimo. During the time, I did not see Artanis and Irissë except at mealtimes. I worried, I eavesdropped, I rifled through correspondence: but the solidity of my family’s defences ensured that I did not learn much. 

Then lurid rumours about Findekáno’s addiction to drink began. I decided that it was for the best that I was not privy to what had happened. Enough demons of my own had I to fear; Finwë’s charred body, my mother’s face in rictus, my fingers trying to find purchase on sweat-slick skin, a polished voice abandoning refinement for fear, Elenwë’s scream as the ice gave away. 

Father summoned me one day and I was led to the lavishly arrayed tent that housed Maitimo now. 

“Pity him not,” Father commanded me. 

I nodded. It explained why they had cloistered him away. Pity was one thing that we could not conquer and endure.

“There you are!” Maitimo’s voice was as serene as ever.

Then I saw him. But for the lingering remnants of sickness, he seemed as handsome as ever. Only when I met his eyes did I flinch. For in those grey pools were a fire that seared the hearts of those that he regarded. 

“Many unsuccessful attempts at entering these premises,” Father remarked as he bent to kiss the forehead of his brother who was lying in repose. 

“If I had known you wished to see me, I would have sent for you,” Maitimo apologised charmingly before extending his left hand to me.

It was only after I had grasped it that I understood what it portended. He gave me one of his wistful smiles and spoke.

“Such a poor price to return.”

Lore said later that he regretted returning. It could not have been farther from the truth. Perhaps, in his mind, he had always foreseen the return. 

 

The years passed slowly. Maitimo had once again proved that he was damnably adept at surprising us. He mastered the sword and the quill. But where once his words had been easy going and suave, now they were shaded by foreboding, wistfulness and hell-wrought determination.

Macalaurë and Artanis had settled into their relationship of old though their carefree hedonism was a thing of the past. Irissë and Tyelko were as reckless as ever in their pursuit of passion. Perhaps they were the only ones amongst us who did not change. 

“Telpë, can you spare a moment?” 

It was Turkáno. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. I set aside the tongs and straightened to face him.

“I am not comfortable here.” He waved at the forge fire and made a face. “Come out, will you?”

“Certainly.” 

I wiped my palms on my breeches and smiled when he scrunched his nose at that. We stepped out and for a while he seemed content to watch Maitimo and my father sparring in the courtyard. Maitimo’s lack of finesse in movement was compensated by his unorthodox technique, if technique it could be called. Father was as elegant and swift as ever with his parries and thrusts. 

“It is about your father,” Turkáno said finally. 

“Father?” 

I turned to face him. An unguarded expression of vulnerability flickered over Turkáno’s features before it was replaced by solemn determination.

“I came to tell you that we are involved in an intimate relationship of sorts.” Turkáno passed a hand over his eyes and scowled. “That is, I thought it right to inform you about the change in our regard. No, what I mean to say-”

As novel as his flustered features were, I did not want to see him punishing himself further. I remembered too vividly how Elenwë had up given her life for me. Here he was, worried that I would not approve of his relationship when I owed my life to him.

“I must go,” Turkáno blurted. “I have to meet Findaráto regarding the scouting expeditions.”

“Turkáno.” I clasped his shoulder. He did not turn to face me. I continued uncertainly, “May you find your peace in this.”

His shoulders sagged and he exhaled in relief. Then he spoke quietly in a tone of utmost reverence as his eyes flickered over to my father.

“I already have.”

 

“Macalaurë is marrying.” Father entered my forge and scrutinised my latest creations. “Your technique has changed.”

“Artanis said that my technique has changed.” I looked up from the lode I had been inspecting. “But she did not tell me that she had decided on marriage.”

He frowned. Then he said quietly, “That is because she has not.”

“Father?” I pushed away the lode and devoted my attention to our conversation.

“He is marrying the daughter of one of Nolofinwë’s commanders. The alliance was brokered in court.”

“Artanis-”

“He did not ask. She did not want him to ask.” Father smiled bitterly. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

“But they are in love, Father!” I exclaimed. “They have been in love for many ages.”

“I do not doubt it.” Father patted my hand gruffly. “But neither do I doubt that their choices were inevitable. Artanis deserves better.” He shook his head. “So does the young maid who enters this alliance.”

“You sound as if Macalaurë lacks in something!” I said defensively. “He may come across as cold, but he loves deeply, Father.”

“Macalaurë brings his damn will to his love that shall be the undoing of many.” Father sighed. “Telpë, you will be required to bring the bride to the pavilion during the wedding night. None of us dare touch her with our bloodstained hands.”

Blood. Kin blood. I nodded quietly even as my mind was pulled into the vortex of my mother’s death and the last day in Formenos. There had been blood under my fingernails.

“A political marriage is a necessity,” Father offered bleakly.

“But Macalaurë is not first born,” I said, perplexed.

“Maitimo insinuates that the chances of his ability to perform in the marriage bed are remote. I am sure that he is lying. The healers refuse to endorse his claim. Well, he does not wish to marry, that is clear. Perhaps there was a woman in Valinor.” Father shrugged. “He was always the secretive sort. Findekáno shall not marry. Findaráto is involved in that wild relationship with Ecthelion. That leaves us with Macalaurë.”

 

“Prince.” The young maid bowed as I entered the chamber. 

“Honoured to be your escort, my lady.” I offered my hand to her.

I led her to the wedding pavilion. Findaráto smiled and beckoned us forth. It was undoubtedly the most lavish ceremony I had taken part in. Nolofinwë had spared no pain, perhaps thinking that this would be the last marriage in the family for a long while. Amidst the pomp and gaiety, I could see the grim faces of my family members. Artanis was being drawn into conversation by Tyelko and Irissë though her face betrayed her thoughts. Findekáno was trying his best to distract Maitimo who seemed set on brooding. Turkáno and Father were speaking solemnly, casting their eyes at Artanis every once and then.

Then Carnistro and Macalaurë entered. Macalaurë had never looked so handsome, I could not help thinking. Artanis resolutely turned her face away. Maitimo seemed troubled. 

Macalaurë walked to us and knelt before the maid. Then she offered her hand and he imprinted a perfect kiss.

“Macalaurë Feanorion swears his life and love to you,” he vowed quietly, his melodious voice embellishing each word with iron determination.

“I, Carnilótë, accept this vow and in turn profess my fealty to you, Prince.”

 

“They say he is like his father.”

I had held her mother’s arms when Artanis had fought tooth and nail to save her. Red blooms on the forsaken Helcaraxë. Nolofinwë had named her. That Artanis would lose what she loved to one she had saved – I sighed. And this poor young maid, she was too young.

“Carnilótë,” I said quietly, “would you be offended if I called you by name?”

“Nobody has ever called me by title.” She shrugged and the red silken gown slipped slightly off her shoulders. 

I helped her adjust it and then said frankly, “Macalaurë is a considerate man, just like Grandfather was.”

“Telpë. My lady.” 

It was Artanis. She was pale and trembling. I fancied I could smell wine on her breath. I frowned at her. But she offered a wan smile and a perfunctory bow to the bride. Carnilótë clutched my hand nervously and I realised that she knew what had existed between Macalaurë and Artanis.

“You need not fear anything from this quarter,” Artanis said reassuringly. “I have no claim on Macalaurë.”

Carnilótë stiffened. But Artanis smiled once again and then moved forward to kiss the bride’s cheek. 

“Blessed be your union, my lady.”

Then she left hurriedly. Carnilótë looked up at me, her deep brown eyes holding uncertainty and indecision. 

“There you are!” 

Macalaurë was standing outside the elaborately furnished wedding bed chamber. Carnilótë’s grip tightened on my hand. Then he smiled and made an elegant bow to his bride, his hand moving in a grand, dramatic gesture to his heart as he professed his regard. Carnilótë laughed despite her fears and it was all right. He did always have a way with women. 

 

As I was about to retire to my chambers, I heard cries from the wedding chamber. The marriage was consummated. But Carnilótë’s cries were then drowned by hoarse shouts from without. I looked out of the window to see men shaking their heads as they passed Findekáno’s tent.

“When happiness is denied us, we must make do with what is at our disposal,” Artanis said softly as she joined me by the window.

“What is wrong?” I begged her. Her haggard features and the weight of grief in her eyes nearly undid my composure and I wanted to shake her until she told me all. “What is happening? Why?”

“It is a chalice, my dearest Telpë. We who partook of it must now drain it to the bitter dregs.”

* * *

“Well?” Artanis asked me dubiously.

I had become her chief wardrobe advisor after we had come to Middle-Earth. In Valinor, it had been her father’s privilege. They had been very close, father and daughter. I shoved away those dreary thoughts when she made a noise of impatience and applied my judgement to the matter at hand. We were choosing her attire for the coronation of Findaráto.

“I am too old to wear scarlet,” Artanis mumbled as she picked at the lace of her collar. “I fear I resemble a painted trollop.”

“Nonsense.” I narrowed my eyes and viewed her critically before saying, “You look enchanting. I cast my vote in favour of this.”

“Irissë is wearing green,” Artanis continued. “I think I should forego scarlet and choose cream.”

“You are always wearing cream,” I said patiently. “This is an important occasion. You look beautiful in scarlet. Pray, listen to me for once.”

“You shall have to dance with me if nobody else does.” She gave me her best martyred expression. 

“You know very well that I have not the slightest grasp of the art. But I am sure that the men will be falling over each other tonight to sweep you away to the dance floor. Findaráto would call you seductive if he saw you now.” I winked at her and she laughed. 

“Where would I be without you, Telpë?”

It was not a jest and we both knew it. She was my rock and I hers. It went beyond kinship. Yet it was hallowed by chasteness and love. She had started calling me her knight. 

There was a soft knock on the door and I went across the chamber to open it. To my surprise, it was Macalaurë. He gave me a fond smile before stepping in. Artanis was still facing the mirror. Their eyes met in the glass. I suppressed a sigh as her gaze widened in surprise and a flush rose on her pale cheeks. But she masked it quickly enough and turned to greet him with a smile fixed in place.

“May I beg a dance of you this night?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded saying, “If Lady Carnilótë does not mind.”

His jaw tightened. But he bowed to her and nodded to me before leaving. Artanis cursed and turned back to scowl at the mirror.

 

After cheering up Artanis with an anecdote about Grandfather’s penchant for talking to himself as he worked, I made my way to the guest chambers. I wanted to see Carnilótë. Macalaurë and Artanis remained correspondents, but I had received no tidings of Carnilótë after they had made their realm between the rivers Gelion. 

I saw her standing in the corridor, speaking quietly to someone. She had bloomed into womanhood and now bore a striking resemblance to her mother. The narrow hips had filled out and her nervousness of the past was replaced by quiet confidence. 

“He does not know that you have come.”

It was Findekáno. I wondered what errand he had with Carnilótë. To my knowledge, Findekáno steered clear of everything that was remotely related to Macalaurë. They had never got along well though I remained ignorant to the reasons.

“Neither does Macalaurë know that he is here,” Carnilótë said. “We have done what we can, milord. It is for them to bridge the gap.”

“You cannot know how flighty my wretched cousin is.” Findekáno laughed in exasperation. “It took me seven weeks and more than seventy lies to persuade him to come.”

“Macalaurë is easier to persuade, given the right circumstances.” Her voice was laced with merry innuendo and Findekáno laughed. 

“You have my gratitude, Carnilótë,” he said then.

“It is the only thing we can do. As much as I would like to flatter myself that I have succeeded where Artanis did not, I am afraid that falls under the head of folly.” 

“I failed to understand it,” he muttered. “I shall never come to terms with this. In fact, a part of me continues to hope that the pretence does not end.”

I felt I had eavesdropped quite. I would speak with Carnilótë later. I had spent the season with Maitimo in Himring. Contrary to the rumours, he did not keep a desolate household and drown himself in self pity. In fact, after hemming himself into isolation upon that bare mountain, he had found new interests as horse breeding and hunting. I often thought that he merely craved a reprieve from our family. 

 

“There you are!” 

Maitimo found me gazing at the sculptures in the large corridor. 

“It is beautiful, is it not?” I asked him. “Findaráto tells me that the Naugrim are very talented at this.”

“They know their craft.” Maitimo joined me and touched the stone curves with the back of his hand. “Perhaps you should ask Carnistro to introduce you to their craftsmen. He trades with them.”

“I asked Father. He-” I shrugged. He had treated me to a long discourse on why learning from the Naugrim was the worst idea anyone could have.

“I shall speak with him,” Maitimo said lightly. “It merely requires persuasion.”

“And persuasion is what you excel at,” I teased him. 

I liked him when he was in this mood, when he was not resorting to vague philosophy and utter blasphemy. Perhaps it was Findaráto’s company that had helped restore Maitimo’s spirits. Findaráto and Maitimo had always got along well together.

“Have you flattered Artanis enough?” he enquired merrily, his eyes twinkling in good humour.

“I daresay I have.” I laughed. “It was not flattery though.”

“Come and flatter me then. I am in dire need of company and Findaráto is busy.” 

“You can ask Findekáno,” I teased him. When he was in this temper, nothing upset him.

“I might. But I am afraid that speaking might not be a priority for us.”

“Father tells me that I should turn a deaf ear to you when you speak so,” I remarked. “I am still young, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and said sardonically, “You are older than Itarillë. And Itarillë has already procured a reputation for her varied activities in the carnal realm. I find it difficult to believe that you have not bedded one or two or many more of your father’s people. There are more than a few very handsome soldiers under him.”

I stopped walking. Did he think that I preferred the charms of my gender to that of the opposite gender? I remembered the broken screams and the darkness. Suppressing a shudder, I said quietly, “I think I never shall consider men as partners, Maitimo.”

The merry twinkle in his eyes vanished abruptly and his lips quirked in wry understanding. There was no need to elaborate further. He knew, as he always knew. He came to stand before me and squeezed my shoulder before speaking softly.

“I knew a woman once. The circumstances were as painful as those we found ourselves in long ago.” He paused and gauged if he could afford to tell me more. I grasped his arm and he nodded. “To make the long story short, the experience nearly proved my undoing. My conscience was riven by guilt. I vowed never to consider women as partners after that. Yes, I understand you.”

“Will it heal? I dream of it. I cannot bear it. Will it stop?”

He kissed my forehead and said, “I am afraid that I would be lying if I said yes.”

And I knew then, from his shaking voice, that whatever haunted him was infinitely worse than what haunted me.

 

The feast proceeded smoothly. The reunion after the long years of separation had all us in merry spirits. Even Aikanáro and Carnistro were on their best behaviour. The same, though, could not be said for Findekáno. He seemed resolved to drink his way through. 

“Prince Celeborn of Doriath!” the heralds called. 

We turned to watch the silver-haired Sinda. Much had we heard of his hunting exploits. But what struck me was his haughtiness. His eyes were narrowed as they took in Irissë and Tyelko. The rigid stance he assumed instantly told us of how displeased he was to have undertaken this embassy. He deigned to proffer a perfunctory bow to Nolofinwë, his jaw set and his eyes cold even though Nolofinwë had greeted him warmly. I decided that I hated him. Findaráto rolled his eyes behind Celeborn and I suppressed a grin.

“Oh, brother, your friend is a silver tree!”

Artanis was not one for easing conversations or deliberate flattery. It had escaped her unknowingly and she blushed. Clad in the scarlet gown and her hair flowing gold upon her bare shoulders, she was a statue of grace and desire. No wonder why Celeborn’s eyes went wide. Instantly, he knelt before her and professed himself enchanted. She blushed again and drew her hand hastily away when he held it more than he ought to have. Even Macalaurë had never affected her so. I hated this Prince of Doriath very much.

When the dances began, Nolofinwë claimed Artanis’s hand for the opening dance. Findaráto took Irissë to the floor. But no sooner had the minstrels begun varying their music than Celeborn claimed Artanis from Nolofinwë’s arms. 

“A match, would you not say?” Findekáno murmured as he stood by my side.

“She deserves better,” I said stoutly. 

“We never get what we deserve, Telpë.”

They made a striking pair, I could not help noticing. Maitimo was already among the Sindarin soldiers that had escorted the nobles from Doriath, conducting discreet enquiries about Celeborn. Then there was a shift in the music again and as it became tender and wistful, Celeborn leant in as if to kiss Artanis. I stiffened. Artanis was gazing at him, looking quite shaken but not unwilling. Nolofinwë sent Irissë over and Artanis was escorted back to us. Celeborn remained on the dance floor, his eyes hooded as they regarded her retreating form. 

 

“He is a promiscuous, spoiled, arrogant piece of inferior royalty,” Macalaurë said venomously. Most of the guests had been led away by the escorts and only family remained. 

“It is not your concern and I would thank you to remember that,” Artanis snapped, turning her attention to the goblet of wine she held.

“Artanis, a dalliance with that pagan is not what you need right now,” Findekáno began.

“Pray, no.” Her eyes glittered as she drew herself up to her full height. “Not one of you knows what I wish, far less what I need.”

“You need a carnal encounter,” Irissë tried to lighten the air. “Preferably with a stunning specimen of the opposite gender.”

“Unlike you, Irissë, and unlike many others gathered here, my morals are inflexible. I do not seek to replace what I had with what I can have.” 

Macalaurë’s jaw clenched as he understood the insinuation. 

“Artanis,” Maitimo intervened. “Care for a dance with me?”

Her eyes narrowed in displeasure. But Nolofinwë was looking across at us, concern writ on his features. So she shrugged uncaringly and followed Maitimo to the dance floor. 

Macalaurë scowled at them before saying in a tone of grudging fear, “The fool cannot lead far less balance to keep up with her grace.”

“He considers that a poor price to spare you her wrath,” Carnilótë said quietly. 

Macalaurë scowled again. Findaráto rolled his eyes and called for more wine. 

“Only our family is here,” Carnistro said reassuringly. “And we have all seen him at his worst.”

Macalaurë cursed.

Artanis and Maitimo were having a hard time, I could see. After several misadventures, they finally managed to ease themselves. She was laughing as he made a comical expression of grief after the ordeal of settling into the rhythm. With his hand about her waist and her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, they began dancing. I could see true worry on Nolofinwë’s features as he gazed upon his nephew and niece. Artanis shot a smile at me as they passed us. Maitimo whispered something in her ear and she nodded.

“A song, cousin!” she requested Macalaurë as they swept past him. His scowl became more pronounced, but Carnilótë’s reassuring touch on his wrist made him sigh and give in. The minstrels stopped playing as Macalaurë stepped forth. One of them passed a harp across, but he refused it with sharp shake of his head and bade them leave. All eyes were on him as he began singing in the rich voice that Grandfather had compared to molten gold.

 

“Once my dream did weave a shade,  
Where I had all that I craved,  
Swift it passed as water over rocks run,  
Cruel as clouds that chase the sun.”

 

Artanis had closed her eyes. But Maitimo’s eyes were dark and brooding as they met his brother’s sombre gaze. Then Maitimo began singing, in a voice cultured and melodious, though nowhere as potent as Macalaurë’s rich timbre, yet strangely haunting in its own way.

 

“Spring follows winter, and the day follows night,  
Clouds cannot claim the sun, try as they might,  
For what is must come to light,  
The revenant sun shall shine bright.”

 

Father shot me a vexed look. Macalaurë began again, his voice burning in passion and his eyes smouldering coals. 

 

“Yet we flee ever the western wildness,  
Yet we fall howling into the darkness.”

 

Findekáno’s soft voice picked up as the echoes of Macalaurë’s verses receded in the chamber. The crowd remained etched in time, still and shaken.

 

“Little we had once, lesser we have now,  
What we have we keep, this we vow.”

 

Maitimo quirked his lips at that and nodded to his cousin before coming to meet Macalaurë’s gaze once again. This time when he sang, his voice was devoid of restraint and refinement. There was only emotion, emotion that he had rarely allowed us to see. 

 

“The weeping child could not be heard,  
The weeping parents wept in vain;  
They stripped him of his robes,  
And bound him in an iron chain.”

 

Macalaurë cursed aloud and turned away, his features blanching in horror. Findaráto gripped his arm, but Macalaurë shook it off angrily. Then rose Artanis’s clear voice, bleeding as only a voice could bleed. 

 

“And they burned him in a holy place  
Where many had been burned before;  
The weeping parents wept in vain,  
Are such things done on Arda's shores?”

 

Macalaurë turned back to meet her gaze. But her eyes were staring into Maitimo’s haunted grey ones. And I understood why she had not married Macalaurë. I understood why Findekáno had sought Carnilótë’s aid. I understood why Maitimo had secluded himself in Himring. Macalaurë began singing again, his eyes glittering with the pride of an unrepentant sinner who revels in his sin and his voice bewitched us into ensnarement. 

 

“When night comes, the sun shall go,  
To places fit only for woe.  
But until then to live I vow,  
And while I live, I hold to hope.”

 

Maitimo dropped his hand from Artanis’s shoulder and turned to face Macalaurë. But Macalaurë was storming away, his face a study in turmoil.

“Macalaurë!” 

Macalaurë stopped at the threshold of the chamber and whirled about to meet Maitimo’s stricken regard. Then he spoke coldly, his voice devoid of the passion that had coloured it scarce moments ago.

“If you have ever had the least measure of regard for me, I beseech of you, spare me your fraternal concern. It is unwelcome and I have no use for it.”

 

Artanis remained behind with Nolofinwe in Hithlum while I journeyed to Thargelion with Carnistro. There I met the Naugrim through Maitimo’s good offices and earned their regard. I did not understand Father’s prejudice against the doughty race. I certainly admired the dedication and skill they brought to their craft. Well, there was their avarice that reminded me of Mairon’s ambition, but if one overlooked their possessiveness, they were a noble race indeed. 

Mairon. Laurefindë had come riding alone to Thargelion during the last winter. He carried an epistle from Turkáno to Father. Carnistro chided him for his reckless venture before conceding to let Laurefindë accompany me to Himring where Father was spending the season. 

“How fares things in Nevrast?” I asked Laurefindë politely as we began the journey east.

He seemed distracted and tired, but he answered with his usual good cheer, “Well enough. We are-” he frowned and looked about before continuing, “we are relocating.”

I crinkled my brows in bewilderment. He began explaining hurriedly, “There have been portents. We needed to relocate. I can tell you more only after we reach our people, I am afraid. The Enemy has many ways of gathering information and here even the winds obey him.”

We reached Himring safely and after a joyous reunion with Father, I explained Laurefindë’s errand to him. Father received the epistle and retreated hurriedly to his chambers. I hoped that the tidings bode well. I was feeling weary from the ride, but decided to wait for Maitimo before I retired. Laurefindë too, seemed unwilling to seek his rest. We made desultory conversation until Maitimo returned from one of his unfortunately frequent charges into enemy held terrain. After Macalaurë’s scathing words in Nargothrond, there had been a horrifying rise in Maitimo’s recklessness and nothing we said could curb it.

“Telpë!” he greeted me merrily as he emerged from his chambers, looking freshly bathed and clad. 

“And Laurefindë.” His eyes swept over my companion thoughtfully. “Whatever brings you from Nevrast to these cold climes?”

“Not the prospect of these climes, I assure you!” Laurefindë laughed. I could not help a grin at his ready wit, but Maitimo remained unmoved.

“Chambers have been prepared. Rest and I shall arrange a hunt tomorrow,” Maitimo said abruptly before beckoning forth servants and leaving the chamber.

The exchange left me unsettled. Laurefindë’s eyes were shaded by brooding and I felt strangely fearful, carried across time to that fateful day when he had argued on the road with Mairon.

 

Rest eluded me that night and I decided to seek Maitimo’s company as dawn neared. His eccentric sleeping patterns ensured that he was always available for conversation whatever the hour of the night was. He would deprive himself of sleep for days on end before sending for a sleeping draught and ensconcing himself in his chamber for a day or two. The absence of Macalaurë’s iron will was telling.

I was about to knock on his door when I heard low voices earnest in conversation. Hesitating but curious, I listened.

“Irissë told me to seek you out.” It was Laurefindë though his voice was devoid of its usual warmth.

“I cannot answer your questions, Laurefindë,” Maitimo said dully. 

“Will you deny me peace?” Laurefindë demanded.

“Will you deny me what vestiges of pride remains to me?” 

“You cannot know the horror of my lot, Prince.” 

“He called me that.” Maitimo’s voice was bleak. 

“You spoke with him?” Laurefindë asked eagerly. “You met him?”

“How could I have not met him?” Maitimo responded wryly. “He is their torturer.”

“Please!” 

Laurefindë spoke brokenly and it made me think of the fierce emotion that had shined in his eyes when he looked upon Mairon that last time.

“My dear Laurefindë.” Maitimo’s voice was kind and pitying. “You must understand that he had reasons.”

“Was I worth nothing then?”

“On the contrary.” Maitimo sighed and continued quietly, “Ask no more of me, Laurefindë. It will do us no good. Go back to your chambers and find what rest you may.”

“If Prince Canafinwë was in my place,” Laurefindë asked angrily, “would you deny him an answer? Would your pride matter then?”

I flinched as I heard Maitimo’s wretched sigh. Then he succumbed, as he would always succumb when Macalaurë’s name was invoked.

“You know not what you ask of me, Laurefindë. You speak of Macalaurë, but think you that I have told him anything at all? Think you that he has asked anything of me? He has allowed me my pride, for he knows well that pride is not to cloak my wounds; it is to shield my scarred heart. Knowing this, what do you ask of me?” 

“I seek not to strip you of your shields, Prince. I shall not open wounds that I have no balm to heal. I need only one answer from you and no more shall I ask, I swear. Does he yet love me?”

“He shall never stop doing so, Laurefindë.”

Laurefindë’s breath hitched and there was silence. Then Maitimo said quietly, “I wish I could offer you words that might console, Laurefindë.”

“But there are none, Prince. There are none.”

After a long pause, Laurefindë enquired tentatively, “May I ask one more question? It is not related to what I begged of you earlier.”

“Do ask,” Maitimo responded warmly. “I would be honoured to answer.”

“Have you never lost hope, Prince?”

“Once I did.” Maitimo’s tone became sombre. “But it was renewed by the kindness of one I must call foe.”

“Revenant, they call you.” Laurefindë spoke in a hushed tone. “You rose from despair to hope again.”

“Revenant they call me, and revenant I call the sun. Behold, Laurefindë, the sun rises yet again! Let it be your motif, my brave friend. I see your fall. But I know you shall rise spurred by the very love that shall be your undoing.”

“My prince?” Laurefindë whispered in shock.

“Behold the dawn, Laurefindë, behold the dawn.”

* * *

“Telpë!” 

Maitimo burst into my forge, fully attired for a journey. I sighed and resigned myself to yet another of his lectures regarding my safety in this fort manned by his finest warriors while he was out in the enemy terrain risking his life recklessly.

“I am riding to Hithlum.” He looked worn - like metal beaten too thin and flat. “I need you to ride to Thargelion or Himlad so that I may be assured of your safety.” 

I scowled at him. A forge had been built for me in each of their realms and I was despatched from land to land as they saw fit. Of course, they all claimed that their only motivation was my safety. I did not mind their overprotection but I dearly loathed them when I had to stall my craft and start anew each time after relocation. 

“I cannot tarry,” he said crisply. “Prepare to leave. I have your escort arranged. I shall ride out as soon as you are across the Lothlann.”

“I shall remain behind, Maitimo.” I glared at him. “My work-”

His withering look directed at the tongs I had been holding evinced the futility of that argument. I bit back a smile and used the approach that had never failed to win an argument with him.

“You encouraged Macalaurë to practise his craft when our family considered him eccentric. It is unfair that you forbid me from dedication to my craft.” 

“That is an unfair ploy, Telpë, and one I never suspected that you might resort to.” He raised an eyebrow in wry amusement. 

“I am not leaving to Himlad or Thargelion merely because you have been struck by a whim to visit Nolofinwë,” I said plainly. “I am tired of the constant interruption to my work.”

He hummed and then offered, “Come with me then. Artanis is there and would welcome your company. When my errand is over, you can return with me and resume your work here.” 

It was the utmost I could hope for. Maitimo was not an easy person to persuade, particularly in matters of our family. He acted in what he thought were our best interests, as confidently as he once had overruled Grandfather in diplomatic matters. 

He smiled as I contemplated his offer. I knew then that it had been his intention all along. 

“Would it be the first time someone called you manipulative?” I enquired dryly.

“I am afraid that you are not the first to grace me with the compliment,” he replied with a mischievous wink. “Come, I cannot afford to tarry. It is a pressing matter that calls me to Barad Eithel.”

 

So we journeyed that winter to Hithlum. Maitimo had taken along more warriors than was his wont. At first I assumed that it was caution for we travelled across wild lands. But when I overheard him discussing search strategies with his commanders, I began to fear the nature of his errand to Nolofinwë. He remained the same as ever, fluctuating between agreeable good humour and dire blasphemy. Yet, I felt a stir of unease when he hunched over the map that marked the regions bordering Celon and Aros. Nan Elmoth. 

The nights were cold. The warriors made fires and huddled around them with the grim tenacity of men who served Nelyafinwë Fëanorion. He would often remain with them till past midnight sharing the campfire, broth and bawdy warriors’ tales. I was forbidden to mingle with the warriors because Father had strictly warned Maitimo against encouraging me to take up the sword. 

It was one of those nights, as we braved the falling snow and the cold winds, that the men began their usual storytelling by the roaring fire. I stood on the threshold of Maitimo’s tent and watched them with not a little amount of envy as they laughed raucously at each bawdy insinuation. 

“A round of folly!” one of the men called. “A round of folly by draw!”

Maitimo nodded assent and removed his cloak with easy elegance before spreading it down on the ground and seating himself. I could not help a grin at the hastily concealed admiring glances the men threw his way. 

The draw chose a man younger than me. Now it was time for folly. The man would have to choose between a question from one of his fellows or ask a question of his lord. From what I had seen of the game, it was better to answer a soldier’s teasing question than to attempt asking Maitimo anything. Maitimo was not the ideal person to seek answers from. Yet, the men persisted, trying to understand their prince they would sacrifice limbs and life for.

“Well, my dear friend?” Maitimo leant back on his arm and smiled at the young warrior. “What shall it be?”

The warrior’s flustered composure gave him away and the rest of the men laughed, not unkindly. Maitimo’s lips quirked though his grey eyes remained fixed on the campfire. I had often felt that he remained alone even amidst people.

“Ask, then,” he said quietly. 

Silence fell in the ring and I stiffened unconsciously. The men usually asked him about Findekáno and Maitimo would respond with several variations of the same vague answer. The braver warriors would ask about Grandfather. Maitimo would then reply in monosyllables. None dared ask him about the tragic parley or its consequences. They feared his displeasure, though I had never understood what he had done to elicit such awe in these hardy men.

“What remains your happiest memory, milord?”

Despite myself, I stepped out of the tent as the silence deepened. The wind had gentled to a breeze and now only the crackling of firewood contributed to nature’s symphony. I watched in fascination as the men leant forward hungrily, etching Maitimo’s wistful expression into their memories where it would remain untarnished by time and grief. 

What was his happiest memory? I had never thought of that before. For me, it had been Grandfather congratulating me after I had succeeded for the first time in prospecting for a lode. 

“Word of honour that it shall not leave this circle?”

The warriors swore as one. Maitimo’s eyes widened at their unhesitating compliance and with a curt nod, he leant forward. His finely hewn features softened by the fire light, he began to speak quietly.

“I had come of age that day. There were gifts from the Gods. The one who rules dreams granted me a reverie. What I saw in that dream remains my most treasured memory.”

The men sat entranced as Maitimo’s words faded away. He nodded to them and made to rise. Then one of them remarked, “But milord, a dream is not a memory, not unless it has already come to pass.”

“What we knew the most fleeting wisp of is memory,” Maitimo replied. 

 

We were met at the borders by Findekáno and with a hurried discussion, they decided to send me with an escort to Hithlum while they rode out to Nan Elmoth. At Barad Eithel, there was gloom and misery.

Irissë was missing. Nolofinwë refused to leave his chambers. Artanis was sick though she refused to let me call in the healers. She would not let me touch her, or assist with her wardrobe. She refused to come riding with me. She would not hear of stepping out of the royal wing. I was frightened but there was little I could do. Her inexorable will prevailed in this as it had done in everything else. If Maitimo had hoped that I could help Artanis, he was sorely mistaken. She had never accepted succour gracefully. 

 

Maitimo rode into Barad Eithel with weary men and ill-used horses. He gave me a perfunctory nod before rushing to Nolofinwë’s chambers. He succeeded in coaxing away Nolofinwë from that self-imposed misery. 

“Artanis has been out of sorts,” I muttered as I took dinner with Findekáno and Nolofinwë. 

Maitimo was lounging on the bow window, his eyes turned towards the courtyard below where children played hopscotch. He was trying hard to stay awake, it was obvious. If he had been at Himring, he would have sent for his sleeping draught and barricaded himself in his chambers for a couple of days.

“I noticed it.” Findekáno sighed. “I asked her about it. She refused to answer. Well, they were close, Irissë and Artanis.”

“It is unlike Artanis,” I persisted. “She is unwell, Findekáno. But she insists that she is not.”

“She is a healer,” Findekáno said reassuringly.

Nolofinwë rose to his feet and took his plate with him to the window. With a murmured greeting, Maitimo drew up his legs to his chest, thus making space for Nolofinwë on the seat. Findekáno engaged me in a conversation about Carnistro’s trading with the Naugrim. Then a messenger came in and Findekáno was called away. I shoved away my plate dully, my thoughts yet on Artanis.

“What is this?” Nolofinwë asked in concern. 

I turned to find him fingering a gash the end of which peeped out of Maitimo’s tunic. Maitimo blanched and then cast a nervous glance at the chair where Findekáno had been seated scarce moments ago. 

“You have never lied to me before,” Nolofinwë said. “I shall take back my question.”

Maitimo closed his eyes and leant back. Nolofinwë’s eyes were filled with turmoil as he rose and made to leave.

 

I remained in Hithlum with Findekáno while Artanis and Maitimo travelled to Himring. Artanis remained withdrawn and morose when we made our farewells. I noticed that she was tensed whenever Findekáno was in her vicinity. Perhaps they had had a falling out, though Findekáno seemed undisturbed by whatever it had been.

Artanis had never got along well with Maitimo. Now that I knew the reasons for their unspoken discord, I was all the more confounded why she agreed to accompany Maitimo to Himring. 

The strangest matter was that Nolofinwë did not speak to Findekáno ever again after his niece and nephew left Hithlum. Findekáno attempted conversation many a time only to be rebuffed by dead silence. Irritated by these family intrigues I could make no sense of, I promptly occupied myself with the forge. 

Then happened the sudden flame. I waited alone in Barad Eithel when Nolofinwë and Findekáno rushed to battle. 

 

Rumours. Rumours that my uncles and father were all dead. Rumours that Macalaurë and Carnilótë had been taken alive. That Aikanáro and Angaráto had committed suicide. That Findaráto was hemmed in by the enemy. That Nolofinwë had gone mad on the battlefield on hearing these tidings. 

A letter from Artanis made it through the enemy lines and I had never been gladder to see the hastily scribbled lines in her hand.

 

“Your father is safe in Nargothrond. So is Tyelko. Aikanáro and Angaráto dead. Macalaurë in Himring. Findaráto on his way to succour Nargothrond.”

 

I worried for Carnistro and Ambarto. She had not mentioned their fates. But Artanis would not have hesitated to impart the direst tidings. So I had to believe that she simply did not know as of yet.

Findekáno returned alone to Barad Eithel and assumed the kingship of our people. 

 

Carnilótë came with Maitimo’s soldiers after the last scuffles had died on the battlefields. She attended her father’s funeral. 

“You will be staying at Himring?” I enquired of her I escorted her after the cremation.

“I shall join Círdan,” she said quietly. “Lord Nelyafinwë needs his brother.”

“They will tear each other to pieces,” I said bleakly. “You saw how they were the last time they met.”

She met my gaze and spoke with an earnest frankness that I would always associate with her.

“A man who throws himself recklessly into the melee and braves a dragon, all in the remote hope that he buys another time enough to flee - that man is in love.”

 

I joined Father in Nargothrond. Findaráto was as charming as ever though he had sworn off all debauchery. Rumours spoke of a lover in Doriath. Artanis had recovered her indomitable spirit and we renewed our easy relationship of old. 

It was there that I met Finduilas. After Angaráto’s death, his son had come to join Findaráto in Nargothrond and with him were his children, Finduilas and her brother. 

Artaresto, who was called Orodeth, had raised his children to answer only to their Sindarin names. He abhorred our language though I did never understand why. Many had chosen to adopt the language of the Sindarin natives and foresworn our mother tongue. Perhaps it was because they hated anything bearing the mark of Grandfather and our language used the runes he had devised Itarille had been one of them. She had chosen to be called Idril.

Finduilas was a woman as women usually are sung of by wistful bards - graceful, beautiful and fragile. There was not a heart in Nargothrond untouched by the unassuming charm. Artanis did not care to spend time with her niece, but this was not a reflection on the virtues of Finduilas. It was probably because Artanis seldom cared for companionship. 

I used to present Artanis with jewellery on occasion. Sometimes, she would sketch the design of a pendant or a bracelet and beg me to craft it. Jealous ladies of Findaráto’s court would come and ask me to craft pieces for them. They would employ techniques from coy persuasion to blatant seduction. I was never moved. 

Then came Finduilas one fine day to my forge. 

“Would I be interrupting you, Prince?” 

“If you grant me a while, I shall be able to accompany you without. You seem uneasy in the forge.”

She smiled gratefully but remained where she was, nervously clasping her fingers. 

“What is it?” 

She stepped forth and placed before me a small silken purse. I opened it and tipped the contents onto my palm. A red stone, flawless and exquisite. 

“My mother gave it to me when I came of age,” she murmured.

“Do you wish me to set it in a necklace for you?” I enquired. “I do not normally consider such requests. My work is not for profit or fame or goodwill. My father would be glad to help you, I am sure.”

Her soft blue eyes flickered with the slightest measure of hesitation before she said, “I want it set in a sword. I cannot ask that of Lord Curufin.”

Sindarin names unsettled me. But I could not ask the lady to use the old tongue no more than I could bring myself to use Sindarin. Then there was her request. In a sword? I looked at the red stone once again.

“My brother’s sword.”

Living with Maitimo equipped one to detect undercurrents in conversation. She had not spoken her brother’s name. She had sought to highlight her relationship to him as if defying me to notice what lay beneath. 

Her eyes widened as she realised what she had unconsciously given away. But I smiled and patted her arm in a show of support. With a sigh, she relaxed and cast her eyes down to the jewel.

“I shall be privileged to undertake this commission,” I told her sincerely.

“You have my gratitude, Prince.”

“Let me ask something other than gratitude of you - friendship, if you shall grant it to the grandson of Fëanáro.”

She laughed at the unsubtle reference to her father’s prejudice. I grinned and returned to my inspection of the jewel.

“You have my friendship, Prince, for what it is worth.”

“Telpë,” I told her firmly. “I have never answered to anything else all my life. I have no desire to.”

“Then I hope you shall never have to.”

 

Artanis did not return from Doriath. Findaráto returned, though he was as careworn as he had never been before. Tyelko and Orodeth had bitter arguments that often culminated with rank accusations of kinslaying and rape. Father and Findaráto tried to negotiate, but to no avail. 

My aunt’s departure left me lonely and depressed. If not for the gentle heart of Finduilas I would not have coped well. I did not understand why Artanis had left without a farewell. I hated Celeborn, but if it was her choice then I would not have opposed her. Certainly she could have returned with Findaráto and let us arrange the wedding with the pomp it deserved? I felt betrayed. She and I had been confidants closer than siblings and yet she did not think I merited even an invitation to this wedding. 

Then came Beren and Orodeth usurped Findaráto. Tyelko and Orodeth had a long, bitter fight after tidings of Findaráto’s death arrived at the end of which Father and Tyelko were banished from Nargothrond by the new king. 

“Come!” Tyelko commanded me as he prepared to leave. 

“I am not coming,” I said quietly. 

Artanis had once promised me that we would be together come what might. Yet she had discarded us all for Celeborn. Maitimo had never written a letter to me despite our long separation. Macalaurë and Findekáno had chosen to correspond with Father, Tyelko and Findaráto while conveniently forgetting me. Carnistro too had not cared to enquire about my well-being. Father and Tyelko were consumed by the oath. 

Perhaps it was time that I followed the path Artanis had taken. It was time to build my life away from my family intrigues. While Orodeth would not be pleased if I bided in Nargothrond, he could not do anything about it. Finduilas and Inglor would ensure that my privileges were not curtailed. 

For the first time after leaving Tirion, I dared imagine that I had found a permanent home.

 

Staying in Nargothrond proved to be one of the worst mistakes of judgement I had committed. Orodeth did not allow me to write to Father or my uncles saying that he would not countenance correspondence with kinslayers. 

I had never been alone in my life before. I had never needed to protect myself. My father, my uncles, Artanis, Elenwë, Nolofinwë - I had always been cosseted in the family bosom. Though Inglor and Finduilas tried their best to keep my mind occupied, though I endeavoured to busy myself with new ideas and ventures, I missed my family. 

Then Artanis wrote her first letter to me since her departure for Doriath. I was angry with her. But I was keener to remain in touch with the only person whose correspondence Orodeth did not ban. So I wrote back and our correspondence began. It thrived and our easy relationship of old was restored to an extent through those letters.

 

When Gwindor proposed to lead a host to fight under Findekáno in the great battle waged by my family to destroy Angband once and for all, I leapt at the chance to join his men. Orodeth could not deny me that since he had to remain impartial before the courtiers. But he was cunning and sprung a trap.

“All who leave to fight this battle must vow to take up no billet under another lord or raise their sword for another realm.”

I would have to return to Nargothrond. 

 

“Telpë!” Father roared, his features torn between anger and relief, when he saw me riding with Gwindor.

“Father!” 

I did not even bother to pretend calm. I dismounted and ran to his side, eagerly falling into his embrace.

“There he is!” 

It was Macalaurë now, looking plainly happy to see me. Tyelko, Carnistro, Findekáno and even Ambarto embraced me and called me nine kinds of a fool for remaining in Nargothrond as vassal to Orodeth.

“I had to make a vow to return,” I told Father unhappily. “But I have no wish to return. I shall dearly miss Finduilas and Inglor, but I have no wish to return.”

“You have to return, my boy.” He averted his gaze, cleared his throat and offered me a strangely soft pat on the shoulder. “We cannot have it said that any of us failed to keep our word.”

“Is my happiness worth less than a stupid vow I had to make because of his cunning?” I demanded angrily. “Father, I am sorry that I did not come with you. But you cannot ask me to return.”

“If he does not want to return, then he does not,” Tyelko said encouragingly. “Atarinkë, the child looks miserable. Macalaurë or Artanis can write to Orodeth and cobble some explanation.”

“No,” Father said quietly. “Let him return and take his leave of his friends before joining us, Tyelko.”

“Orodeth will not allow me!” I exclaimed. 

“He is a coward, not a tyrant,” Father said briskly. “Now into armour with you, child. Make sure that you are close to one or the other of us at all times in the mêlée.”

 

I was so relieved to be reunited with my family that even when we lost the war and retreated I was in indomitably high spirits. Bloodlust had never been one of my vices. But that day, as I basked in the love of my father and uncles once again, I was helplessly excited by the war. I rode with Maitimo on his reckless forays into enemy midst. The mixture of fear and daring that I experienced then was so heady that I finally understood why Maitimo embarked on those ventures. But Father came and ordered me away to the middle of the retreating cavalcade. 

After we had retreated to safety, Maitimo put together an escort to take me back to Nargothrond. I cursed myself every step of the journey for not having left Nargothrond with Father after Findaráto’s death.

 

Túrin was a very handsome man. He was also a singularly cruel man. He used others with neither pity nor conscience. He manipulated, cheated and lied to have his way. He undid all the work Findaráto had done to keep Nargothrond secret. He took advantage of Finduilas’s pregnancy and had me thrown in the dungeons.

Then he came one night to profess that he loved me. He proceeded to act upon his claim and fell like a wild beast upon my form, rutting as if there was no tomorrow, gripping my arms as if I were the only anchor he had. I was taken back to that night in Formenos. Maitimo had screamed. Were things coming in circles? Would I scream as he had screamed then?

Túrin did not take things any further, instead burying his face on my chest and sighing wretchedly. Overcome by memories and by dreams that had distorted those memories, I threw Túrin out of the chamber and wrote to Artanis. She had to find a way to take me away from Nargothrond. I could no longer bide here.

 

Túrin smuggled me out of the dungeons one night on the pretext of letting me examine a new bridge. I could not read hearts, but I could discern a sword’s tale and the tale of the one who wielded it. The black sword of his proclaimed that Túrin loved me as he would never love anyone else.

If only he were not a man - for I had sworn by all that I held dear to never consider a man as my partner in intimacies. It was the only penance I could do for destroying trust and dignity that night in Formenos.

“Why did you stay behind in Nargothrond?” he asked as we stood beneath the stars.

I lied because the tale of my folly was not one I cared to share. “Yes.” 

Unconsciously, he threw me a glance of pity. He had been very worried for my wellbeing, it was writ on his features.

“It is not very bad, I tell myself,” I said quietly. “Findaráto died in Tol Sirion for Beren’s cause. Maitimo fared worse in Angband and lived to tell the tale. I am in perfectly habitable dungeons, with Elves as guardsmen and suffer no ill-treatment at their hands.”

“But it goes ill with you.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I miss my work, the feel of metal under my fingers, the heat of the forge and the sweat of my toils.”

His features turned stricken, before he nodded and recouped his composure with the words, “We can enact a passable scenario of all those if you chose to indulge in an activity that has just suggested itself to my imagination.”

I knew what was in his heart. But I had to ask, “Do you consider me a conquest yet to be claimed? What purpose shall bedding me serve you now?”

“Did you listen to naught I spoke that day?” he demanded, refusing to meet my gaze determinedly. 

“Who was he?” I started at the black blade I had reforged.

“Beleg Cúthalion, wise and true,” he said simply. “He loved me. I used him as I used many others I know, as I continue to use many here. He loved me and regretted it at the end.” 

“I found myself wondering what he had seen in you,” I said thoughtfully, unsure if I wanted to speak further. 

“I am good looking .I fight well.” 

Then he spoke those words that proved my undoing.

“Ask, and if you are not given, take,” said he.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“That is how I have lived all my life. You see, I had no other choice.” Horror leapt into his eyes like the flames of the dragon that had slain Findekáno. “I had to do what I have done. It was to survive. I was handsome in my childhood. They asked and then they took. It is the same that I do now. Anything to survive, Celebrimbor, anything to survive. We cannot all be chivalrous fools like you.”

Anything to survive. Maitimo had said the same. I had done the best I could in Formenos to ensure our survival. Blood under my fingernails. I suppressed a shudder and met Túrin’s bleak gaze. He stood there, brave and self-loathing, as he awaited my censure. It reminded me of Maitimo striving for Macalaurë’s acceptance. It reminded me of Macalaurë trying to resort to fraternal love though his heart had been long branded by the regard he bore Maitimo. 

I sighed and let my eyes pass over Túrin’s form. There were crinkles around his eyes. There were creases on his forehead. A few black hairs near his temples had silvered from strain and exhaustion. I would not make my uncles’ mistake in assuming that time would wait for us.

“You had best call me Telpë.”

 

It was the most blissful time of my existence.

Looking upon him twisted my heart and words failed. The concoction of emotions that assaulted me when his fingers trailed with aching sensitivity over my face, the hitch in his speech when I pressed my lips to his collarbone, the rapturous moans that fled him when my hands worked his body, the sorely ravaged heart that peeped through his eyes when he lay spent in the aftermath of passion - it was that thing Macalaurë sung of in gladder times. 

Then came a night when the alarm was raised and the worried guards abandoned me in the dungeons. Túrin did not come to me. I feared. He was savage in battle, but not reckless. The sword I forged could not be broken by anyone. But still - the thought of him lying in a pool of his blood - I could not bear it. My imagination destroyed my peace as I paced the small cell where I was being held. The guards had securely barred all the doors leading to the dungeons. The lack of air was causing me a pounding headache. I sat down and counted the bars on the door. I counted them again. And again. And again. 

Dreams came, terrifying and dark as they ever were, distortions of faces and memories loved and cherished. Then there was blackness and the low siren call of one who had doomed us with the prophecy of the North. My soul was an entity ensconced within the cocoon of those dark dreams and my body was giving in to a will stronger than one I possessed.

The next thing I knew, I was being crushed against a madly drumming heart, kissed by a desperate, insane, dearly loved man. He dragged me away from the threshold of death and his stricken sobs quenched the burning grip the dreams had on my soul. 

 

It ended. He and I were cursed scions of cursed forefathers. To fight one doom was futile. Then how would we fight two? Yet that unreasonable, illogical, insane corner of my heart had never stopped hoping that miracles were waiting to be unleashed at the time of deepest despair. I hoped that the Gods would parley with us and end this exile, that Grandfather and others would be freed from the void and given a chance to live again, that Maitimo would have his hand back again, that my mother would come back to us - oh, many, many things did I hope for. 

But when I watched Túrin riding away from me with the moonlight glinting off his armour and the slow wind rippling through the hair I had been blessed to caress, I knew that I would never again fall prey to the folly of hope.

* * *

Artanis had come to me bearing the grim tale of the massacre at Doriath. Not a tear had she spared when imparting in precise, clipped tones the tidings of my father’s fall; had Middle-Earth hardened her heart so terribly? I met her blue eyes and saw grim determination there when once I had been privy to seeing in that gaze kindness and love. 

“Artanis!” Carnilótë cut in, offering me a deeply welcomed embrace simultaneously. I closed my eyes and bit down on my lips to control my grief. 

“You have lost your father and I have lost mine. One would think that he is the first to suffer the loss the way you cosset him!” 

“You are grieving, Artanis,” said Carnilótë, ever compassionate and slow to take offense. “In your grief, you fail to understand the harshness of your words.”

“Then comfort him yourself!” 

Artanis’s voice had dropped an octave. By experience, I knew that the next sentence would be harsher than the crack of a whip. My father had often advised me to adopt the course of retreat when facing Artanis in such a temper. I sighed and buried my face in Carnilótë’s neck, discreetly muffling my uneven breathing there. Tears were not allowed, not now, not before Artanis. I would leave as soon as Artanis had stormed away, and there would be a lonely cot waiting to soak up my grief. 

To my astonishment, for once, Carnilótë did not take the path of dignified retreat, instead choosing to remark, “You cut deeper than you realise, kinswoman.”

“We are no kin!” Artanis scorned. “I would not advance that relation based upon a marriage that is no marriage at all!”

Carnilótë stiffened and I hastily let go as her shoulders heaved.

In a strangled voice, she whispered, “Yet I believe I did better by my husband than you ever have done.”

“We must all find our own reasons to live for,” Artanis said in that mocking tone she could assume with unparalleled ease when it suited her purposes. 

Carnilótë beat the course of retreat and I was left alone with Artanis. Sighing, I walked to her side and placed my hand on her shoulder. She shook her head mutely and fell into my arms, sobbing strickenly, though I did never know if the tears were for her fallen cousins or for the accursed words she had spoken. But she and I were as the sun and the moon, boulders constant in changing times and falling realms. We had endured together and despite our many faults and shortcomings, we would always forgive each other. 

“Why is it that I am a beast when it comes to Carnilótë?” she asked rhetorically, wiping her wet cheeks on my tunic. 

I stroked her forehead and asked forlornly, “Envy?”

She snorted and pulled away from me muttering, “The day I am insane enough to envy a woman who has been sold into a marriage as farcical as theirs is, I think I shall give up all claims to the title of wisdom.”

It was a veneer perfected over centuries. I did not have the heart to break down the pretence that afforded her a measure of control. 

“I was there,” she began quietly, her words faltering as emotion swept them awry. “He - the passing was fast, Telpë. He did not suffer.”

“Galadriel!”

It was Oropher, clearing his throat once to alert us before opening the door. Artanis hastily assumed a bland expression of polite interest and I turned away to the window, inordinately relieved that I did not have to hear more tidings of the massacre. 

“Celeborn is here. He wants,” Oropher cleared his throat once again.

“He wants me to spurn my kin and attach myself as a sycophantic, demure wife to his side,” Artanis finished with a trace of asperity. 

“I do think,” Oropher began valiantly, trying to defend his arrogant cousin.

“I come.” 

She swept out of the room without taking leave of me. Ours was a relationship tested by time and horrors; she had given up ceremonial trifles in our interactions perhaps due to that reason. 

“My lord.” 

Oropher took a step forward and I had no choice but to turn and meet his subdued green eyes. Had he lost wife or lover in the massacre? Perhaps his parents? I swallowed and averted my eyes to the wardrobe behind him.

“I grieve for your loss,” he said simply, and left the chamber.

My father had killed Oropher’s King and kinsmen, destroyed the only home Oropher had known and ruined his legacy. Yet the Sindarin Prince had offered me his condolences for my father’s death. 

That I, as my father’s son, did not deserve the Sinda’s pity, more than anything else, forced me to my knees, burying my face in my hands, and I succumbed to the wretched sobs which were equally stirred from my guts by the bone deep loathing I had for my cursed family as well as immeasurable grief for what I had lost in Doriath. 

 

Then I met that force of nature sprung of a night’s forgotten passion between Findekáno and a woman of the Sindar. Artanáro. Ereinion Gil-Galad, as they spoke of him in lore. But to me, he was Artanáro and as Artanáro I knew him.

“He is rather temperamental,” Círdan told me, caution in his eyes as he looked down to the courtyard where Artanáro was training a hunting hound.

“I know.” I cast him a wry glance. “But he would not be the first in our family to show that trait.”

Círdan smiled at that and nodded saying, “I will not naysay you on that, Prince. Yet Gil is dark-tempered ever so often. I doubt that Lady Galadriel or Prince Maglor would approve of your rapport with him.”

I took a deep breath and murmured, “He is lonely, milord. His father was guardian and mentor to me. For my uncle’s sake I cannot, in good conscience, bring myself to hate him.” I continued thoughtfully, “Artanis and Macalaurë will have reasons of their own to treat Artanáro as they do. My father,” my voice hitched and Círdan offered me a kind glance, “was not fond of him either.” 

“Lord Maedhros likes him. So does Lady Carnilótë,” he said quietly. “I have rarely found their judgement lacking in merit.”

Artanáro looked up and saw us on the balcony. He flashed me a grin and a wink before returning to his self-appointed task. 

Círdan shook his head and stepped back into the chamber. I followed him. Artanáro had tried to wheedle his way into my bed, but I had firmly held my ground. I did not like finding pleasure where it could be found. Grandfather had once told me that it was wrong to give the body when one could not give the heart. I could not give Artanáro my heart for it was lost to a dead man.

 

Maitimo came to Balar and threw himself into consultations with Círdan. Macalaurë was devastated with grief for what had happened in Doriath. For once, it was his bedchambers that resounded with shouts at nights. Carnilótë tentatively broached the idea of keeping vigil over his reverie. But he fiercely refused it with all the pride he must muster in his grief-ravaged state. He asked me to join them in Círdan’s palace. My self-sworn oath to help Artanáro left me unable to comply with Macalaurë’s request. 

“Perhaps you should coax him to join Maitimo,” Carnilótë suggested to me.

“I would rather not be burned alive by Macalaurë’s sarcasm,” I replied wryly. She smiled and nodded in understanding. 

But when it worsened, Carnilótë arranged for a family banquet and ensured that Macalaurë faced Maitimo. If I had known of her plan, I would have dissuaded her. An angry Macalaurë in the prime of health was nothing compared to an angry Macalaurë in this state. 

“We have not seen much of you lately, Lord Nelyafinwë,” Carnilótë remarked innocently as my uncles played with their cutlery dully.

“The art of escapism manifests itself,” Macalaurë muttered. 

Maitimo’s fingers clenched white against the goblet he held, but he remained silent. Close to, he looked worse than Macalaurë, I noticed in worry. Gauntness was Macalaurë’s usual state. But Maitimo looked ill.

“Lord Círdan-” Carnilótë began again, only to be cut off by Maitimo’s warning look followed by Macalaurë’s sarcastic words, “I am sure that Lord Círdan is currently enjoying the discussions held in closed chambers away from prying ears and eyes.”

With that, he rose to his feet, shoved back his chair and strode off in a huff. I suppressed a groan and looked up at the ceiling. Carnilótë sighed.

Maitimo cleared his throat and said quietly, “You need not have taken the burden on your shoulders, milady.”

“It vexes me,” Carnilótë said in the plain manner she had which immediately reminded me of Findekáno. 

Maitimo smiled and offered her a respectful nod before patting my shoulder and taking leave of us. 

 

“I shall tell her you were here,” Celeborn said crisply.

“Is she not here then?” I enquired politely. 

I hated him. She deserved better and he did not treat her well. But for her sake, I remained unfailingly courteous in my dealings with him.

“She is occupied,” he replied. “Unless you wish to convey anything of urgent import, you had best be on your way. You are one of the busiest men here, after all.”

I suppressed my instinct to barge within and seek her. He would not have lasted a day if I had been Macalaurë. 

“Celeborn?”

It was her. She was still in her way clothes and seemed unoccupied enough. She met me with a smile and walked over to embrace me. Celeborn scowled. I had often wondered if Artanis chose her men based on their scowling potential. 

“Really, Celeborn,” she said amusedly, “you could have sent for me.”

“You were enjoying some well-deserved peace!” he blustered. “Besides, your kinsman is a busy man and has other pressing needs on his time. Haven’t you?” He glared at me.

“I certainly do,” I said politely. “I shall take my leave then, Artanis.”

She nodded and saw me to the courtyard. He hovered behind her, every bit as possessive as Macalaurë could be of those he loved. I could sense that the fool was not inclined to let me speak with her that day. Perhaps I should first send her a note as Macalaurë did to ascertain when her husband would be out. 

 

As I walked down the street to my forge, I saw a young woman running towards me, stray dogs chasing her. 

“Oh, please!” she implored as she reached me. 

Her eyes were wide in terror and her delicate form heaving with exertion. I was in the habit of carrying food to my forge. This I had inherited from Grandfather who could not be bothered with attending dinners when he was working on something. That day, it was apples. I took out an apple from my satchel and threw it to the right. The dogs ran after it as it wove its trajectory through the air. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as I turned around to face her. 

High colour flushed her cheeks and her brow was stained by sweat. She was a very beautiful woman in the manner that Sindarin women were beautiful, with their long manes and curvaceous bodies. Even the Noldorin sculptors I knew preferred the form of these women to the gaunt lines of our own. 

“I thought they might harm me,” she murmured.

Her rich, lilting accent bespoke of noble blood. I silently offered her my arm and she took it with a graceful smile. 

“Lóriel!”

“Ada!” 

She turned about to face the handsome man striding towards us, express worry writ all over his features. With one last shy smile at me, she nodded and rushed into her father’s embrace. I felt a pang of envy as I saw the father reassuring her with gentle words and soothing touches. Suppressing a sigh and trying my best to forget what I had lost in Doriath, I made my way to the forge. 

 

The next saw I saw the maid, she was in the market of Balar, examining one of those beautiful hand wrought mirrors of the talented Naugrim craftsmen. To my irritation, the trader was trying to sell her a cheap imitation at the price of the actual item. I made my way over.

“You must hold it to the light, milady,” I told her. “Look how it reflects the light. The finer the glass grains, the more brilliant it gleams in the sun.”

She half-turned and when she saw me, she blushed and gave a slow smile that warmed my heart in a way that none had ever done since the cursed man I grieved for yet. 

“Lóriel,” she said quietly. “I am called Lóriel.”

“Telpë,” I replied. 

It began from there. She reminded me of Elenwë, of marigolds and of brighter times. Her innocence, her wonder at all things new and old, her curiosity, her hesitant smiles and lilting accent all won her path to my heart - or what remained of my heart after Túrin Turambar had thoroughly rampaged on it. 

She was as she was named. The golden innocence that sparkled in her large eyes whenever she saw something that took her fancy - a little blue jay that chirped merrily before the rains, a posy of orchids that a young girl sold on the roadside, a merry stream gurgling its way to the lagoons near the sea, the wind through the boughs, the tinkling bells of the jugglers - oh, her smile was ever waiting to break forth on those dainty features. Innocently, unwittingly, gloriously, she made her way into the desolate wasteland that was my heart. By the time I had turned aware of my danger, it was all too late.

“Oh, do look!” She knelt on the grass and tugged me down with her. 

“Chrysalis,” I said quietly as the little butterfly emerged slowly from its cocoon. 

She looked up at me then, and saw my heart in my eyes. She did not hesitate, she did not withdraw in horror, but she placed her palms on her knees and leant forward to kiss my cheek ever so chastely before closing her eyes and sighing. I let my hands wander to her shoulders and drew her to me. 

 

“Lord Oropher to see you,” one of my aides told me as I worked in my forge.

I frowned. Except for occasional greetings when we met on the streets or in the company of Círdan or Artanis, we rarely had occasion to concern ourselves with each other. 

“A good day to you,” he wished genially as he entered.

“Shall I accompany you without?” I asked politely. Not everyone was inured to the heat of the forge. 

“My cousin would never let me hear the end of it if he knew of my errand and destination,” he declined. “I came to speak with you of the maid. Do you know whose daughter she is?” 

“I have seen her father, yes,” I began quietly. “But what does your errand have to do with her?”

“He does not like the Noldor,” Oropher said plainly. “I cannot tell you of his lineage. But you must be aware that this alliance does not bode well.”

“I intend no disrespect,” I said earnestly. “I wish to court her and marry her, if she so wills. Surely he will not deny me the suit?”

Oropher pursed his lips and his green eyes turned thoughtful. Then he said, “Perhaps you might ask your kinsmen to come and speak to the maid’s father? I hear that Lord Maedhros is the guest of Círdan once again?”

“Yes, he stays with Círdan for the season,” I replied. “I will inform him then. I am sure that he will not deny me this.”

Oropher smiled and nodded to me before leaving the forge. 

 

“Maitimo?” 

I stuck my head into his study. He was idly rummaging through correspondence, his bland expression giving away his utter boredom.

“What is it?” He tilted his head inquisitively as I entered the chamber. “Macalaurë is out with Artanis, I presume.”

I glossed over that. His relations with Macalaurë were something that I did my best to not meddle in. Interference inevitably resulted in one being made the target of Macalaurë’s barbs until he chose different prey. 

“I met a woman in the market a few months ago,” I began. “I wish to marry her.”

His eyebrows shot up and he pushed himself off the chair with a weary glare at me. 

“You cannot help being my father’s grandson, can you?” he enquired rhetorically.

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked in bewilderment. 

“I know the woman,” he said sharply, more sharply than I thought the occasion warranted. “You would do better to forget it.”

“Oropher told me the same,” I confessed. “But I love her, Maitimo. You, of all people, have never been one to refuse aid in the name of love. I need you to meet the lady’s parents and broach my suit.”

“Oropher,” Maitimo said introspectively, his eyes glazing dark grey with something akin to regret. “He is his mother’s son, is he not?”

“Artanis gets along well with him,” I said, too used to Maitimo’s meandering thoughts to take to worrying about them. “I have never heard of his mother in all the time I have known him.”

“And whose sin was that?” Maitimo murmured, casting his eyes to the sun that was slowly traversing the sky to its night’s resting place. 

I remained there patiently until he had pulled himself out of his train of thoughts. Then he addressed me saying, “I will speak with the girl’s father, Telpë. I fear it might do more harm than good though. Are you in earnest?”

“As earnest as one in love can be,” I replied frankly. 

“As earnest as one who is in love for the second time can be,” Maitimo remarked absently.

“You speak as if you know of what it means,” I said, angry that he would be so careless with my emotions when I had always taken especial care to spare him his feelings.

Maitimo shrugged tiredly. “Unlike you, my dearest Telpë, I am afraid that I deserve nothing of love’s balm.”

I flinched at that. Why would he think himself unworthy when he had suffered as deeply as he had? Then he turned to meet my regard and I averted my eyes, for none who possessed a heart could bear the grey despair contained in his gaze.

“I will speak with Lord Elured, Telpë. That his father was slain by your father would not offer an obstacle, one must hope.”

Elured, son of Dior of Doriath, did not allow me permission to court his only daughter. Whatever had transpired between Maitimo and Elured must have been grievous, for Maitimo took to his chambers and brooded for weeks that even Macalaurë sacrificed his pride and beseeched his brother to confide in him. 

 

I had a habit of staying over in the forge if it rained heavily. I loathed storms and did my best to avoid travelling in one. But it was Balar and storms were more frequent than it had been in Beleriand. So it happened that I was in the forge for more nights than one might anticipate. 

It was during a stormy night that the knocker on the door was pounded repeatedly in the dead of the darkness. Wondering if Artanáro had caused some unsavoury scandal again, I obtained a lantern and rushed to the door. 

It was Lóriel. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked concernedly. “Come in, come in!” She was drenched to the skin despite the lotus leaf she had held over her head to escape the rain.

“Please!” She clutched my arm and the lantern flickered. 

Lightning flashed and I saw those wide eyes beseeching me silently, words dying unvoiced on her rain drenched lips.

My breathing hitched and warmth flooded my body as she lifted her head to kiss my lips, her own trembling and parted. 

 

I did not see her again. But discreet enquiries made to Oropher had me relieved regarding her well-being. 

“She shall correspond with you when her father overcomes his understandable prejudice on the matter,” Oropher said reassuringly when he saw me waiting at the door to his residence yet again.

“I cannot believe that my uncle’s men would have been cruel to them,” I said forlornly.

“My lord,” Oropher’s words were laced with pity. “You have been sheltered by those you name kin. A day might come when you need to make choices and face their consequences. Take heed that you are not dependant on your kinsmen’s aid then.”

I scowled at him and muttered, “My family has never failed to succour me. They never shall.”

“I certainly hope that it may be so,” Oropher allowed with a smile. “But we must not be reliant on another to an unhealthy extent. These are not hallowed days. We all have our burdens to bear and your family more than the most. How can one help others if he cannot help himself?”

“Maitimo does that,” I said staunchly. “He has never given a thought to his life. But he has always ensured that the rest of us were safe.”

Oropher’s green eyes darkened in introspection and he said quietly, “Perhaps he cannot bear to think about his life. My mother, who sailed west long ago, always found it easier to help others than to relieve her own suffering. Some wounds, milord, go too deep to be relieved.” 

 

I stared at the elegant scrawl on the parchment that had been delivered by a young flower girl on her way to the market of Balar.

 

Meet me by the brook behind the new barracks. I have reconsidered the matter and would speak with you at greater length as to your intentions regarding my daughter.

Elured. 

 

I fingered the scroll thoughtfully. It conjured images of those trusting wide eyes and the easily blooming smile that had graced me and my ravaged heart when I had despaired of ever finding an antidote to my mourning for the man I loved.

“A storm is setting in, Telpë,” Artanáro told me as he saw me prepare to leave. “Why are you leaving for the forge? You told me that you did not intend to work till the rains have passed.”

“It is a trifle,” I said absently. “I shall be in time for dinner, Artanáro.”

He nodded and cast me a curious look before saying quietly, “Whatever takes you away on such a night cannot be a trifle. Here,” he unsheathed his sword and pushed it into my hands, “take it, will you? You can be incredibly foolish at times and you never look where you are going.”

I did not reply, for I did not wish to be late. Spurred by memories of the sweet passion I had shared with Lóriel that night in my forge, I hurried to the Sindarin barracks and further onwards to the little brook that ran past it. 

A fat droplet of water struck my nose and I scowled as the storm prepared to set in. I dearly wished that Elured did not mean to speak without. Perhaps he had sought neutral ground and wanted to do this in the open? 

 

“There you are,” his voice rung out.

“My lord Elured,” I nodded my head politely. “I hope I am not late.”

“Not at all,” he said as he stepped forth from his place and met my gaze thoughtfully. “You are as naive as they say you are.” 

“Lóriel,” I began.

“Don’t you ever dare voice my child’s name with your lying mouth, kinslayer!” 

He drew out his sword that gleamed in the steady patter of the rain and I realised with a morbid pang of horror that I had indeed been naive. Not naive. Foolish.

“I love her,” I said quietly. “As her father, you would do better to discuss this civilly instead of resorting to blind threats and display of power. Can we not put the past behind?”

“Forget the past?” he stared at me incredulously, his sword suspended in the air. “Forget the past, you say? Am I to pawn my daughter to one whose family destroyed our kin and kingdom? I only regret that your father is not alive to grieve his son’s death, you fool!”

I drew out Artanáro’s sword and raised it in warning before attempting conciliation again.

“She loves me, Lord Elured. Will you deny her happiness? My aunt found her happiness with Lord Celeborn and none of us grudged it.”

“Who said that we give our children to offal? My daughter has pledged herself to one of my lesser kinsmen. She shall find happiness as I will it.” His eyes gleamed and the lightning flashed across the skies. 

He lifted his sword and I knew he would not shy of murder when I saw the snarl distorting his fine features. He had her eyes. He had her hair. But he did not have her heart. Fighting Artanáro had been fighting a force of nature. Fighting Elured was fighting death. I fought as I had never fought before, meeting him as skilfully as I could, not yielding the least to his mad charge. 

Then his sword slipped away from his grasp and I stopped my charge, stepping back from gallantry inbred in me by Findekáno and Father. But he laughed and drew two knives, long and curved. It was then that I knew he would kill me. I had stood a fair chance with the sword. But the knives: his people had mastered them in ways we never could hope to match. 

His cold smile told me that he knew the odds. I stood my ground, wondering how one fought an opponent with two knives. Túrin had once mentioned that knives were infinitely more lethal than a sword. I had never thought then that I would be given the first hand opportunity to experience it.

The first slash I was able to defend myself against. Then the second knife came swiping and I shouted as I managed to catch it merely a scarce instant before it reached my flesh. I thought distractedly that Maitimo’s practice of never going out without his armour had some merit. 

The knives slashed down and I leapt back in horror. He could bring me down easily. But he was toying with me. The next swipes came with blinding speed, singing through the air even over the rain, and I knew it would be over. 

“You fool!” 

Maitimo never cursed. He left the arena exclusively to Macalaurë. But a curse from his lips had never sounded more musical and I sank to my knees in a fit of relief as he stepped forth swiftly to meet Elured’s charge.

“Get away,” he snarled at me, his eyes flashing the white fire that rivalled the brilliance of the lightning searing the skies above.

I hastily rose to my feet and retreated a few paces, my heart in my throat as I watched him battle the madman whose daughter I loved. They were not evenly matched. Elured had inherited his grandfather’s skills with the blades and had the advantage of four limbs that were even in compliance to his reflexes. My uncle’s technique had never been honed in the training fields; it had been born on the March of Maedhros where he had defied Moringotto for centuries. But slaying the minions of the enemy was not the same as battling a man who had been trained by the finest of the Sindarin commanders. And I could see from the grim light in Elured’s eyes that he knew.

The knives clashed against the sword once again and Maitimo’s lips pursed as he was forced to yield ground steadily. His robes were drenched and hampered his fluidity. Elured’s armour was cut to shape and I knew it was the make of one of their finest smiths. Maitimo had foregone armour. Why? Had he hurried after me?

Elured’s bark of laughter broke my thoughts and in horror, I saw that he had Maitimo pressed against the bole of a large tree, left knee between Maitimo’s thighs, knives crossed around the gasping throat.

“You might be thinking that you would have done better to kill me then, Feanorion,” Elured hissed, spittle flying onto Maitimo’s robes. 

I rushed towards them even as Elured spoke. Maitimo glared at me in warning.

“Unlike you, I kill cleanly.”

“Then it is a pity that you shall never kill again.” 

My uncle’s eyes blazed silver with the wrath of the white fire that had been consuming him ever since his return. The lightning struck once again and the tree against which Elured had pinned him caught fire. I shouted and rushed towards them. But Maitimo had already used his opponent’s diverted attention to his advantage, ducking out of the hold of Elured’s loosely clasped knives and ripping away his burning robes with his hand before smothering Elured with them and pushing him into the burning pyre that nature had made. 

The disembodied howls and the dull gleam of the knives in the fire would be something that haunted my dreams ever after. I stood there, numbed.

“Is my hair burning?” he asked me as he turned away from the gory spectacle.

I shook my head, my eyes yet transfixed on the fire behind us. 

“Come away,” he said briskly, looking down at himself, fingering the flimsy undertunic that clung to his skin. “Not much the worse for the wear, I daresay. Let us hope that I am spared Macalaurë’s wrath. Fortunately, I know the traders’ entrance to the castle” 

“Maitimo,” I began.

“What will you do after we are gone, Telpë?” he asked wearily, his eyes dull and sad, holding not the least measure of the fire that had blazed through them scarce moments earlier. 

“Gone?” I whispered hoarsely.

He shook his head and pulled me to him for a rough embrace, his ribs painfully discernible through the material of the undertunic. I placed my right hand on his heart, as I had done at Alqualondë long ago. The blessedly even rhythm that had soothed me then was a spasmodic, uneven pace now.

“Not much longer, Telpë,” he said tiredly, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I have pawned all that I am. But even that fails to suffice. Not much longer.” 

“Hush.” 

I steadied him and led us back to Círdan’s castle.

* * *

I fidgeted uneasily outside the parlour in Maitimo’s chambers. Usually, little compunction did I have in rushing into his chambers without warning and invitation. But now I heard Macalaurë’s voice, for once warm and earnest instead of cold and incisive. I played with the knob of the door in indecision.

“It is suppertime,” he was saying, though he did not seem very concerned about that.

“I could distract you.” Maitimo’s voice was mellow. “Even if I am not a woman, I still can engage you skilfully enough, I daresay, within the limits you have imposed on us.”

“Where might you have picked up these skills of distraction?” Macalaurë was scowling. I knew it instinctively.

“Are we jealous?” Maitimo enquired teasingly. “Possessive. You were always possessive. I remember that you clung to a little wooden harp Mother had made for you and scowled at Father when he wanted to inspect its make. Apparently, it was yours. All yours, you said then.”

“I cannot recall such an occasion. I can only say that you seem to be using the liberty of your status as my elder to fabricate nonsensical tales in a bid to make me stay with you.”

“I believe that is why Father never liked you,” Maitimo continued cheerfully despite Macalaurë’s scalding words. “You bit his hand when he tried to pry the harp from you.”

“How two-faced of him!” Macalaurë muttered. “Deep pleasure he professed to have in being bitten by Nolofinwë. He was drunk when he admitted to that, but drunkards speak the truth.”

“You were not Nolofinwë,” Maitimo pointed out.

“I am glad that I was not. I have no wish to sire the children he was burdened by.”

“Must you be so disagreeable even in the wake of what has transpired?”

“I thought you find it charming, Russandol. You certainly went out of your way to provoke me with tales of my childhood bites.”

“I admit that scowling becomes you well,” Maitimo laughed. 

“Looking as you do now becomes you well,” Macalaurë responded quietly.

“Then I am very sorry that,” Maitimo paused and I knew that he was at a loss for words, “that it did not happen sooner. I could not, that is to say, I did not know how-”

His voice was broken by a surprised laugh and there were several moments of silence punctuated only by harsh breathing. Macalaurë’s tones were uneven and devoid of music when he said, “We have endured. I hold that we have a greater chance of prevailing in this than a pair of young fools revelling in the first throes of love might have.”

There was quietness again.

“Telpë?” 

It was Carnilótë. I smiled at her and hastily moved away from the door I had been inspecting. 

“They have reached a modicum of understanding, I take it?” she enquired.

It was unfair on her. But it could not have been any other way at the end. Some loyalties were etched beyond the scope of erasure. 

“Círdan wanted you to meet him before you leave to the forge,” she told me. “Ereinion was there. It seems a pressing matter.”

Had Artanáro become embroiled in another scandal yet again? I wondered bleakly before making my way to Círdan’s study.

 

The ship-lord was enthroned behind his desk, his eyes cast out to the dark skies. Pacing the floor was Artanáro.

“Look at the trouble you are in! The trouble you have brought down on the poor girl’s head! Why didn’t you tell me?” He seized my shoulders and shook me roughly. Círdan called out a soft remonstration that was half-hearted. Reprimanding Artanáro was a futile endeavour. 

“What-” I began in rising incomprehension. 

Maitimo had summoned me to his chambers saying that we needed to speak of Lóriel. But I had chanced upon something else transpiring in his quarters and had not had the heart to interrupt. Did Artanáro know?

“The princess is to be married to Amdir soon.” Círdan rose to his feet and ventured to pat my shoulder in a paternal gesture. I stood numbed as the words sank in. 

“No,” Artanáro cut me off before I could say anything. “We cannot do anything. Círdan spoke on your behalf. But the Sindarin nobles are furious about the death of Elured. His testament clearly expressed his wish to see his daughter wed to Amdir. We cannot do anything at all, Telpë.” He squeezed my arms. “Celeborn has ensured that we cannot communicate with Artanis. Nor shall I allow you to. Your folly is not hers to suffer.”

“I cannot-” I began in angry astonishment.

“Círdan!” A furious knocking on the doors and commotion without. Círdan signalled us to remain where we were and rushed to open the door. Thalion stood there, drenched and panting, his light eyes haunted and a young squirming bundle in his arms.

“Your child,” he said.

I flinched. I remembered the taste of rain on soft lips. The tender kisses, the gentle caresses and the hushed laughter we had shared that night in the forge. Long months of silence when Oropher had assured my distraught self over and over again that Lóriel would communicate with me as soon as her father’s ire lessened. The heady rush of expectation when I had set out to meet Elured. I had been convinced that he would understand, that he would finally accept his daughter’s choice and that he would give us his blessing.

“What a beautiful child!” exclaimed Carnilótë, who had joined Thalion on the threshold of the chamber.

Thalion nodded and made to give her the bundle. But I rushed forward, nearly tripping over my robes in my haste, and took the squirming child from his arms. Her eyes were black, as were mine. Her features were delicate and beautiful beyond even Macalaurë’s songs and when she clutched my finger in her little fist, I knew that I regretted nothing.

“I cannot give her back,” I whispered to myself. 

“You cannot,” Thalion said bleakly. “They would have given her to a childless Avarin couple if Oropher had not intervened. Lóriel no longer has a say.” He shook his head. “I am afraid that she has never had a say.”

“I must-” I said thickly and faltered.

“You cannot help Lóriel,” Thalion said, not unkindly. “But you must know that Amdir respects her. He proclaimed that he will build a realm with her name. She will know only honour and love.” 

“What consolation is it to a man who loved that his beloved will find happiness in the arms of another?” Artanáro interrupted angrily. “You speak callous words, Thalion.”

“No,” I said, running a reverent finger over the soft skin on the child’s forehead. “If there is happiness to be found, then I will never cross her path again.”

Thalion smiled wanly in relief. I suppressed a shudder as I thought of this child, my child, my blood, in an Avarin hut or cave. 

“Thank you, milord,” I told him quietly.

“Her mother named her Arwen,” he said, before coming over to kiss a dimpled cheek and shaking his head as a gurgle of laughter bubbled up from the child. “I must go before I am missed.” 

He nodded to me, bowed to Círdan, pressed his lips to Carnilótë’s hand and left the chamber. 

“I will take her,” Carnilótë offered. “You need time to come to terms with this.”

“He can never come to terms with this,” Artanáro interjected.

“I believe that I don’t need to,” I said simply. “This is my daughter. She belongs in my hands.”

“For someone who did not know of these tidings scarce moments ago,” Carnilótë began with grudging wonder, “you are certainly as possessive as Macalaurë.”

“She is mine.”

Soft raven hair that curled gently at the ends. Grandfather’s hair. Grandmother’s hair had been long and flowing. It had been Grandfather who had those soft curls at the ends of his locks. Family grapevine spoke of how Macalaurë had been dismayed to inherit it. He seemed to think that it was unfitting for a musician and had probably willed his mane straighten itself through sheer stubbornness. I had wondered what he might have done if his lot had been the unruly crimson curls of his elder brother. Unlike these soft curls of my daughter and of Grandfather, Maitimo’s hair did not follow any geometric pattern - it curled, looped, formed rings, ringlets and a multitude of messy arcs with quite a mind of its own. 

“It is as if a squid has attached itself to his head,” Artanáro - never kind to my uncles - would often sarcastically remark.

Once he had said that aloud in the vicinity of Macalaurë and there had been a glaring match. Macalaurë had won, of course, despite Artanáro’s best efforts. Macalaurë was yet to lose a glaring match. Even Grandfather would throw up his hands in the air and stride away when Macalaurë treated him to a glare.

“What is this?” 

It was Macalaurë with a faint expression of disapproval on his features as he glared at the child in my arms. I frowned and drew the child’s face to my shoulder. I did not want my daughter exposed to his glares. Or to Maitimo’s philosophy. Or to Artanis’s cold remarks. Or to Artanáro’s temperamental nature. It all came together then. My life would have to change. For the sake of the child. I could not let her be drawn into the web of our family intrigues. We had to leave.

“Telpë?” Macalaurë asked again, a scowl coming to nest on his features.

I wondered how much he knew of my dalliance. Carnilótë shot me a reassuring smile before taking her husband’s arm and tugging him away.

“Well?” Artanáro asked. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Gil,” Círdan said reprovingly. Artanáro shrugged and left the chamber. 

Círdan joined me then and remarked rather hesitantly, “The child resembles Ar-Feiniel, so said Lord Maedhros.”

“He saw her?” I asked, stunned.

“Yes.” Círdan offered a wry smile. “He spoke to Thalion and arranged the child to be rescued from their plans.”

She was but a babe and my uncle had already started playing with her fate. My father had said that Maitimo would pawn anyone and anything to reach his ends. Not my child. 

“There is war coming,” I said quietly.

“The last war, they say,” Círdan replied. “Will you fight?”

“I am a craftsman, not a warrior.” 

 

After entrusting Arwen to Carnilótë, I returned to Maitimo’s chambers to find him pensively engaged in examining his reflection in a mirror. This was an unprecedented occasion, I mused, for I had never seen him remotely taking an interest in his appearance. His eyes met mine in the mirror and he spoke in a harsh voice.

“As fast as you shall wane, so fast you shall grow.” 

“Maitimo?” I frowned at the mirror and stepped forth to engage his attention. His words were unsettling, but he spoke unsettling words all the time. Macalaurë had once said that it was as foot rot. It worsened with time, Maitimo’s soothsaying. “I wish to speak of Arwen.”

“You are leaving.” It was not a question. It was a statement ridden by emotion. I gulped, but nodded bravely. 

“I will travel to Lindon and scout the lands to the east. I believe it is time to realise my dream of a craftsman’s guild.”

He did not reply.

“I have to think of Arwen,” I murmured. 

“There are plans on the table. Locations. Lode. Water sources. Possible trade routes. You might find them of use.” He continued before I could reply, “I knew. I had expected this turn of events.”

“I cannot-” I shook my head in frustration. How could I accuse him of playing with our lives? Of pawning my father? Of pawning us all? Of how I could not allow him to do the same to my child?

“It is no game, Telpë.” He walked over to me and his eyes held mine wistfully. “Like the waves make towards the pebbled shore, we hasten to where we must go.” He patted my shoulder and turned away saying, “Do not meet me before you leave.”

I inhaled. Perhaps it was the thought of Arwen that gave me the courage to say what I said next. I felt more independent than I had ever felt in my entire existence. 

“My family has always watched over me,” I said. “I did not understand how fortunate I am until I saw Artanáro.” Maitimo’s eyes narrowed and I hurried on, “I then resolved to do my best to help others as I may. That they might know the peace of having a shoulder to turn to in need. I cannot do any less by my daughter. I must live. For that I must leave.”

“You need not explain your decision,” he said calmly, though his eyes were as cold as silver. “As I said, I anticipated your actions. Your family, as you said, have always watched over you. We shall continue to - Artanis, Macalaurë and I - as long as we live.” He pursed his lips in distaste as if what he had to say went against his nature before continuing. “I destroyed a noble man and delivered him into Melkor’s chasm. Yet he taught me the meaning of hope at a time when I had none. I destroyed a woman and gave her to Námo. She taught me the meaning of compassion.” 

I made to interrupt, for he was frightening me now. The coldness in his eyes had given way to the white fire that had shined in them when he had been fighting Elured of Doriath. His features had hardened - brittle and unpitying - never had I seen him thus but in battle. But he waved his hand angrily at me and continued.

“You said that you need to live. And for that you must leave. Well said. Well said indeed! If I had craved the same, I would not be here now, would I? If I had found a dalliance of my own and indulged in the art of procreation, brought forth offspring - oh, damn it all! I had to be the son my father never was, the prince none of you ever tried to be, the whore that even beggars are not forced to become. All of you followed your calling - into art and science and kingship and hunting - and left me to take what remained. To me fell what my betters spurned, didn’t it? I sold my body, my mind and my will to spare you. And now you must run away from me lest I pawn your blood.” 

I stared at him, horrified numb by the dark emotion in his voice. He closed his eyes and said wearily, “I deprived a man of choice when I sold him to Melkor. You deprived me of choice when you saved my life in Formenos. Would that the man I sold does not deprive you of choice at the end!”

“Russandol.” There was a sharp knock on the door.

Maitimo exhaled and said softly, “Leave.”

“I am coming in,” Macalaurë said absently and suited word to action. He took in our tense postures with a curious look before stepping into the inner chamber. 

Maitimo offered me a desolate smile before turning away to follow Macalaurë into the chamber.

 

Lindon was a city that reminded me of Tirion with its busy streets and crowded marketplaces. The Council of Lindon had both Sindarin and Noldorin nobility in its echelons. Artanis was the Chief Counsellor to the King. She discharged her duty with such flair and ease that it astounded none when the King gave her supreme authority in the matters of administration. 

Artanis and I had been driven apart by the many demands on her time and my resolution to keep my family at an arm’s distance. She tried to visit me as often as she could, but as her duties increased our meetings became infrequent and once again our interactions were confined to messengers. I had not been idle. With the aid of like-minded men, I had led some explorations into the eastern regions. Maitimo’s maps had proved highly useful in my expeditions. 

I had engaged a wet-nurse for my daughter and ensured that Arwen was never out of my sight for even an instant. Artanis had offered to care for the child. But she had hastily added that she was not the most maternal woman in existence. I had laughed and told her that I intended to raise my child by myself. Had not Turkáno done it? Had not Irissë done it? 

“Amroth named the land Lothlórien, after his Queen,” said Artanis one day when we were each immersed in our thoughts while watching Arwen tinker with the wooden toys I had made.

I could not reply. Artanis continued, “You loved Túrambar more, I think.”

“We cannot measure love, Artanis,” I said quietly. “It is intangible.”

“On the contrary!” she exclaimed most fervently. “It can be measured. I love my husband more than I ever loved Macalaurë. Macalaurë loves Russa-”she shook her head wistfully and continued, “Macalaurë loves Maitimo more than he ever loved Carnilótë, more than he ever professed to love me.”

“Findekáno loved Maitimo,” I said. “Yet it was never reciprocated.” 

Artanis clenched her jaw and took her leave, saying that there was a pressing matter she had forgotten all about while engrossed in our conversation. We had not met after that. Her letters were formal and terse. I was occupied by both parental and professional concerns and had not thought more on it. 

Macalaurë wrote to me with monotonous regularity. He had always been an excellent correspondent. He did not speak of events, or of life, or of war. His prose was as ever, flowing and rich, and I was often moved to tears when he wrote of simple domestic scenes with Maitimo. He enquired after my health, wished me good fortune with my endeavour to set up a guild and said that while he missed me, he understood the changed priorities of my life. I would often reply with detailed sketches of my new city and ask what he thought of them. Macalaurë had never spared the least thought for architecture. But the sketches would often be returned with the next letter and I would find cramped, terse writing - writing that had been laboriously mastered by a man who had refused to accept that only the right hand was meet for holding the quill - scribbled in the corners of the sketches with changes in measurement or layout suggested. 

 

We had convened urgently to discuss the kinslayings in Sirion. Círdan was unusually pensive and had not offered a word of greeting thus far. I was in turmoil and wondered absently how Artanis could be as unfazed as she was. 

“Eärendil was a good man,” Círdan said finally. “We are honour bound to rescue the children.”

“Let them keep their hostages,” Artanáro cut in. “And much good may it do them.”

I thought of Arwen being given away to an Avarin family on the coast. My family had many flaws. But we have always succoured our own. 

“They will do their best by the children, Lord Círdan,” I said quietly. “We need entertain no fear on that account.”

“What if they raise the children to sword and blood?” Celeborn demanded. “What if they raise the children to blasphemy and oaths?”

Artanis stirred from her musings and looked up. I replied, “No, Lord Celeborn. I was raised by them. I did not take to sword and blood. I did not take to blasphemy and oaths. The children shall be safe.”

“Maedhros Feanorion torched the city,” Celeborn said angrily. “He gave neither mercy nor quarter! You say that we must let the murderer walk free?”

“I am the Chief Counsellor,” Artanis said with a note of finality. “I say that the army of Lindon shall not be drawn out for such a futile purpose. We let them take the children. As Lord Celebrimbor said, they shall not be mistreated.”

“Sindarin blood was-” Celeborn began again.

“Noldorin blood was shed by a Sinda many lifetimes ago when he succoured his mother in Nan Elmoth,” Artanis said softly. “Need we speak of old times, husband mine?”

He was cavorting with a woman from Mithlond. Artanis had not told me. But the rumours were lurid. Her mask of cold unconcern gave the truth away. He held her gaze for a moment longer before swearing and striding out of the chamber. 

“Galadriel?” Artanáro asked concernedly. “Is there something I must know as your nephew?”

The faintest flicker of hatred surfaced in her eyes before she said evenly, “Nothing at all, Gil. I need to make haste though. There are trade alliances with the Naugrim. Are we done here?”

“We shall not succour the children,” Artanáro passed judgement. 

 

Years passed and I heard dire tidings of my uncles. I rushed to Artanis, only to find the mansion deserted. Neither Artanáro nor Círdan were in the city, I found to my dismay. I returned to my vigil at the mansion of Artanis. Night had fallen when Celeborn rode in from one of his clandestine forays. 

“Galadriel rode to Mithlond this morning. Gil-Galad and Círdan have gone to fetch the hostages. It seems that the murderers no longer possess the means to feed and clothe the children.”

I suppressed the urge to argue and returned to my forge. 

 

Two weeks later, Artanáro introduced me to the young lads that Earendil had sired. Like they were in mien and bearing, and yet unlike they were in words and deeds. Elrond took after Macalaurë, most remarkably obvious in the scowl he reserved for Artanis and Círdan, both of whom he disliked rather intensely. Elros had taken after Maitimo, with his penchant for diplomatic meddling and natural flair at administration. And there was his recklessness. Elros had also taken after Itarillë, his foremother, in that he exhibited the same promiscuity she had shown in her blossoming years. Elrond did not dally, nor did he possess any of man’s vices. I was certain that he would be as wretchedly constant as Macalaurë was in love and life. 

After Artanáro had assigned the lads to Gildor, he drew me away and whispered, “He is dying, Telpë. He does not have long.”

 

War came then, and Artanáro rushed to Mithlond. Elros was leading the Edain and Elrond was fighting under Gildor. They were prepared for their choices, I could see. And I could see Maitimo’s hand in their choices. Would he have manipulated my Arwen’s fate if I had stayed?

I remained in Lindon where Artanis was in charge. Together we weathered the war, and we weathered its many reverberations. She did not falter and I admired her courage once again reminded of the young woman who had exhorted the Noldor at the cold coasts of Araman after the Prophecy of the North. 

Then came a letter borne by Celeborn’s express messengers and she succumbed to a brown study. I kept her company as often as I could tear myself away from Arwen and my guild. She nodded at the letter and I saw the seal of Arafinwë.

“I told him the cowards deserve nothing.”

Her voice broke even as she said those words and I wondered who the coward was. She met my gaze then, her eyes blue and blazing, and she said, “Come with me.”

I nodded and under the cover of the night, we set out from Lindon, leaving the administration to Galdor. We rode fast and relentless, until we had reached the camp of Arafinwë. 

She would not approach him though and stood in the shelter of a nearby copse of trees. He came out presently and spoke with Elros in earnest. Pain seared my heart as I drank in the features of Arafinwë that reminded me of Findaráto, of Aikanáro, of Angaráto, of Orodeth, of Finduilas and of Inglor. A sob broke from the woman beside me before it was stifled and killed. 

Arafinwë stilled in his conversation with Elros and turned his head towards the copse where we remained hidden.

“Milord?” Elros queried.

“Our ears hear what they crave to hear,” Arafinwë murmured.

“Galadriel once said the same thing,” Elros said. 

Arafinwë flinched before murmuring inane apologies and taking his leave abruptly leaving Elros alone. I closed my hand over Artanis’s trembling wrist and pulled her to me. 

“Cowards deserve nothing,” she reminded me with a wan twist of her lips that was a ghastly parody of a smile.

 

That incident left me shaken. Artanis had returned to Lindon. I bided for a while with Artanáro in the battlecamp, uncertain of what I had been putting off. 

“Milord!” 

It was Elros. He did not prevaricate. As soon as he joined me, he said simply, “I can lead you to them.”

“I-” 

“It will be too late,” he said bluntly. 

I nodded and we journeyed to the foothills of Lindon and further into the woods. Men made revelry and ransacking in the glades and I had cause to thank the sharp blade of Elros more than once. He led me to higher altitudes where air was thin, but blissfully free of the stench of war and spoils. 

“Who comes?” Macalaurë’s voice was weary.

“It is Elros, Ada,” called out my companion. “I have brought Lord Celebrimbor with me.”

Macalaurë did not reply. Elros frowned, but tugged me through the thickets. We reached a small clearing and I drew a sharp breath before falling to my knees beside the supine, delirium-ridden, fever-wracked form. Macalaurë stepped past us to join Elros and the two of them began speaking in hushed voices about the war. I bit my lips and forced down my throat a burning wave as I looked upon the wreckage of what had been the finest of Grandfather’s creations.

“He asks for you when he is delirious,” Macalaurë told me. “He orders me to not call you when he is in full possession of his senses. So it is best that you came now. You will leave before he recovers. I have no desire to oppose his whims.” 

“You cannot take care of him alone here!”

“I have been doing so.” Macalaurë glared at me. “While you were busy saving your child from my brother’s manipulations, I was trying to hold his body and soul together with all and any means I knew.”

I swallowed the bitter recrimination and pleaded, “Let us take him to Lindon, Macalaurë! This is folly! He needs aid.”

“I need nothing,” spoke a hoarse, parched voice then. “I need only my Macalaurë.”

I could not bring myself to look around. Macalaurë’s features sagged from angry pain to bitter relief and I felt that I had not scratched even the bare surface of what he had been enduring - what they had been enduring - in these forsaken mountains. I clenched my fingers and turned to find Maitimo still mumbling incoherent words in his delirium.

“I have brought you wine,” Elros said. 

“What are we to celebrate?” Macalaurë asked irritably.

“Why!” Elros made a mock expression of disappointment. “The hundredth virgin I deflowered, of course!”

Macalaurë’s lips flew up in one of those easy smiles that I had last seen a lifetime ago and the care lines disappeared from his face. He mustered good humour enough to remark, “I only wonder that it took you so long.”

“I will fetch water,” Elros offered. Macalaurë nodded and cast his foster-son a fond look as the latter made his way out of the clearing.

I had received a letter from Macalaurë last fortnight. He had not mentioned anything regarding their circumstances.

“I did not know,” I whispered brokenly as Macalaurë sat down on the forest floor and gently drew his brother’s head into his lap. When he ran his fingers over Maitimo’s fingers in easy, reassuring motion, a sigh escaped Maitimo and the mumbling ceased. 

“You were always naive,” Macalaurë said acerbically. I flinched and he said in a quieter tone, “You were not intended to know.”

“I must speak with him.” I implored Macalaurë with my most earnest look. “We did not part on the best of terms. I need to speak with him.”

“The sun rises and falls every day. It has been doing so for many lifetimes of Men. So used are we to its rhythm that we forget to acknowledge it. But the sun was not once there, Telpë.” Macalaurë’s fingers stilled in the crimson tangles. “And one day it shall not be there. You must leave. Time’s scythe has harvested sunshine. ”

 

“Telpë.”

Artanis hesitated at the entrance to my forge, her features drawn and pale. I looked up from my task and waved her in. She joined me and remained silent.

“What tidings?” I asked concernedly. “Celeborn is unharmed, isn’t he?”

“He is safe,” she said dully. “The war is over. Elros sent me a message by the fastest rider he could find. We have won.”

I frowned at the lack of jubilation on her features. She shook her head and embraced me then. Hot tears seeped through my clothes as she broke in our embrace. I begged her to tell me what had happened. She shook her head repeatedly and fisted her hands in my robes. The red fire cast an eerie light on her silver gown and I was carried away into my memories.

“Red falls the dew on these silver leaves,” Indis had said that fateful day in Formenos. 

“I have lost them all,” Artanis whispered through harsh sobs. “I have lost them all.”

I did not need to ask. I buried my face in her tresses.

 

“There are things to be done,” she said. “I must leave.” 

She had willed herself into absolute composure. I nodded wearily and accompanied her without. Her golden hair was washed copper by the dark crimson of dusk.

“Alone,” she murmured. “You and I are left to face the end alone. Will you now forsake me?”

“You and I are as the sun and the moon, constants unaffected by time and tide. You have me, Artanis. Always.”

“As the sun and the moon, you said?” She shook her head. “The moon is fickle. It leaves the sun to die alone.”

“Artanis,” I began quietly.

She cut me off saying in a voice ringing with conviction and fear in equal measure, “I shall be alone at sunset.”

“Not if I have a say,” I swore and she sighed before resting her head on my shoulder. I drew her to me and kissed her brow. 

Before us, the sun disappeared down the tree line, taking with it the last remnants of the world we had known.

“Andúnë,” she murmured.

“Dawn follows dusk, Artanis.” I forced myself to believe what I said. “Dawn follows dusk. Tomorrow shall bring a new dawn, a new world and we will build our places in the new world.”

She did not reply. Then she sighed and drew away from me, gracing me with a wan smile. Extending her hand to me, she spoke.

“Then let us make our places in the new world.”

“At dawn,” I told her. Something stirred in her eyes as she repeated those words of mine thoughtfully.

“At dawn.”

* * *


End file.
